IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


V 


A 


0    -y^  ii 


^ 


7. 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


2.0 


—    6' 


P% 


<» 


/: 


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7 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  6.  V4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


0 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pellicul6e 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


D 


Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


D 
0 


D 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmdes. 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 


D 
D 


/ 


D 
0 
0 
0 
0 
O 


Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d^colordes,  tachetdes  ou  piqu6es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtach^es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t^  filmdes  &  nouveau  de  fagon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


0 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppidmentaires; 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-de»sous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


y 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Thomas  Fisher  Rare  Book  Library, 
University  of  Toronto  Library 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grdce  k  la 
g6n6rosit4  de; 

Thomas  Fisher  Rare  Book  Library, 
University  of  Toronto  Library 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  netteti  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dent  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  film6s  en  commencant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film^s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END '), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — »■  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  drolte, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'imeges  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

^^J^iPo^^^^T 


NEW-EAfitE  SErtlES  i?ic: 


/ 


'kSHikdi^ 


^ 


5v..'^:^H;4S«^i2 


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POPULAR  COPYRIGHTS 

New  Eagle  Series 

PRICE,  FIFTEEN  CENTS 

,  "     Carefully  Selected  Love  Stories  ^ 

Note  the  Authors! 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIU 


There  is  such  a  profusion  of  good  books  in.  this  list,  that  it 
is  an  impossibility  to  urge  you  to  select  any  particular  title  or 
author's  work.  All  that  we  can  &ay  is  that,  any  line  that  contains 
the  complete  works  of  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon,  Charles  Garvicc, 
Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis,  May  Agnes  Fleming,  Wenona  Oilman,  Mrs. 
Alex  McVeigh  Miller,  and  other  writers  of  the  same  type,  is 
worthy  of  your  attention,  especially  when  the  price  has  been 
set  at  15  cents  the  volume. 

These  books  range  from  256  to  320  pages.  They  are  printed 
from  good  type,  and  are  readable  from  start  to  finish. 

If  you  are  looking  for  clean-cut,  honest  value,  th«m  we  state 
most  emphatically  that  you  will  find  it  in  this  line. 

ALL  TSfteS  ALWAYS  IN  PRINT 


i'  -f.y. 


1 — Queen  Bess   c By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

2 — Ruby's  Reward By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

7 — Two   Kej^s  ■ By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

9 — The  Virginia  Heiress.,,, By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

12 — Edrie's  Legacy  Bjj^  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

17 — Leslie's  Loyalty  ...«••«,. .a. •••  By  Charles  Garvice 

(His  Love  So  True) 

22 — Elaine  «, ^.*,....By  Charles  Garvice 

24 — A   Wasted  Love »•••«•«•«..  By  Charles  Garvice 

(On  Love's  Altar)  i 

41— Her  H«art's   Desire ..m» By  Charles  Garvice 

(An  Innocent  Girl) 

44 — ^^That  f)owdy   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

50 — Her  Ransom   By  Charles  Garvice 

(Paid  For) 

55 — Thrice    Wedded    By  Mr?.  Georgie  Sheldon 

66 — Witch  Hazel By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

70— Sydney    By  Charles  Garvice 

(A  Wilful  Young  Woman) 

73 — The  Marquis By  Charles  Garvice 

77 — Tina    » . » .  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

79— Out  of  the  Past By  Charles  Garvice 

(Marjorie)  ._.,^,. 

84 — Imogene '..••.•••.•..By  Charles  Garvice 

(DuauH'esq's  Temptation) 

•    .     3 


,».V' 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES.  

»  — — ■  ■ -^ 

85— Lorrie ;  or,  Hollow  Gold , By  Charles  Garvic* 

8&— Virgie's  Inheritance  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

j)S— A  Wilful  Maid  By  Charles  Garvice 

(Philiopa) 

gS—Claire  By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Mistress  of  Court  Regna) 

99_Audrey's   Recompense   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

102— Sweet  Cyinbeline By  Charles  Garvice 

(Bellmaire) 

109— Signa's  Sweetheart By  Charles  Gfir^vice 

(Lx)rd  Delamere's  Bride) 

III— Faithful  Shirley  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

117— She  Loved  Him  By  Charles  Garvice 

ii9~  Twixt  Smile  and  Tear By  Charles  Garvice 

(Ddlcie) 

122— Grazia's  Mistake   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

130— A  Passion  Flower.... By  Charles  Garvice 

(Madge) 

133— Max   By  Mrs.  (jeorgie  Sheldon 

136 — The  Unseen  Bridegroom By  May  Agfnes  Fleming 

138 — A  Fatal  Wooing By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

141 — Lady  Evelyn  By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

144 — Dorothy's  Jewels   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

146 — Magdalen's  Vow  By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

151 — The  Heiress  of  Glen  Gower By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

155 — Nameless   Dell    By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

157 — Who  Wins   By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

266 — The  Masked  Bridal By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

,  168 — Thrice  Lost,  Ihrice  Won   By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

■  174— His  Guardian  Angel By  Charles  Garvice 

177 — A  True  Aristocrat  '. By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

!  i8t — The  Baronet's  Bride By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

I  188— Dorothy  Arnold's  Escape  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

I  i95h-Geofifrey's  Victory  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

I  203— Only  One  Love By  Charles   Garvice 

j  210— Wild  Oats   ..,,:. By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

j  213 — The  Heiress  of  Egremont By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

i  215— Only  a  Girl's  Love By  Charles  Garvice 

;  219— Lost :  A  Pearle By  Mrs,  Georgie  Sheldon 

222— The  Lily  of  Mordaunt  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

22Z — Leola  Dale's  Fortune  By  Charles  Garvice 

231— The  Earl's  Heir  By  Charles  Garvice 

(Lady  Norah) 

233— Nora   By  Mrs.  GeorgJe  Sheldon 

236 — Her  Humble  Lover By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Usurper;  or,  The  Gipsy  Peer) 

242 — A  Wounded  Heart  By  Charles  Garvfcc 

(Sweet  as  a  Rose) 

844— A  Hoiden's  Conquest By  Mrs.  (^orgie  Sheldon 

.,  s,      ■  .4 


"    31 

3^ 
.    3^ 

;;  3i 
\  3^ 
\  3: 


3: 

3: 


Charles  Garvice 

Georgie  Sheldon 

Charles  Garvice 

Charles  Garvice 

Georgie  Sheldon 
Charles  Garvice 

Charles  G?ir.vice 

Georgie  Sheldon 
Charles  Garvice 
Charles  Garvice 

Georgie  Sheldon 
'  Charles  Garvice 

Georgie  Sheldon 
y  Agnes  Fleming 
Lura  Jean  Libbey 
y  Agnes  Fleming 

Georgie  Sheldon 
,y  Agnes  Fleming 
y  Agnes  Fleming 

Georgie  Sheldon 
ly  Agnes  Fleming 

Georgie  Sheldon 
ly  Agnes  Fleming 
'  Charles  Garvice 
,  Georgie  Sheldon 
ly  Agnes  Fleming 
.  Georgie  Sheldon 
.  Georgie  Sheldon 

Charles  Garvice 
.  Georgie  Sheldon 
rs.  Harriet  Le\yis 
y  Charles  Garvice 
.  Georgie  Sheldon 
.  Georgie  Sheldon 
y  Charles  Garvice 
y  Charles  Garvice 

.  Georgie  Sheldon 
y  Charles  Garyice 

y  Charles  Garvfcc 

\,  Georgie  Sheldon 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 


250 — A  Woman's  Soul  By  Charles  Garvico 

(Doris;  or,  liehind  the  Footlights) 

255 — The  Little  Marplot  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

257 — A  Martyred  Love By  Charles  Garvice 

(iris;  or,  Under  the  Shadows) 

266— The  Welfleet  Mystery  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

267— Jeanne   , By  Charles  Garvice 

(Barriers  Between) 

268 — Olivia;  or,  It  Was  for  Her  Sake By  Charles  Garvice 

272 — So  Fair,  So  False By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Beauty  of  tlie  Season) 
276 — So  Nearly  Lost  By  Charles  Garvict 

j[The  Springtime  of  Love) 

277 — Brownie's  Triumph  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

380— Love's  Dilemma  By  Charles  Garvice 

(For  an  Earldom) 

282 — The  Forsaken  Bride  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

283-r-My  Lady  Pride  By  Charles  Garvice 

287 — The  Lady  of  Darracourt By  Charles  Garvict 

^  (Florist 

288 — Sibyl's  Influence  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

291 — A  Mysterious  Wedding  Ring  ....  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
292 — For  Her  Only  By  Charles  Garvice 

(Diana) 

296 — The  Heir  of  Vering By  Charles  Garvice 

299 — Little  Miss  Whirl  wmd  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

300 — 'The  Spider  and  the  Fly By  Charles  Garvice 

(Violet) 

303 — The  Queen  of  the  Isle By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

304 — Stanch  as  a  Woman By  Charles  Garvice 

(A  Maiden's  Sacrifice) 
305 — Led  by  Love  .-. By  Charles  Garvice 

Sequel  to  "Stanch  as  a  Woman" 

309— The  Heiress  of  Castle  Cliffs By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

312 — Woven  on  Fate's  Loom,  and  The  Snowdrift, 

By  Charles  Garvice 

315 — The  Dark  Secret By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

317 — lone    By  Laura  Jean   Libbey 

(Adrien  Le  Roy) 

318 — Stanch  of  Heart By  diaries  Garvice 

322 — Mildred By  Mrs.   Mary  J.    Holmes 

326 — Parted  by  Fate By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

327 — He  Loves  Me By  Charles  Garvice 

328 — He  Loves  Me  Not By  Charles  Gifrvice 

330— Aikenside  By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

333 — Stella's  Fortune  By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Sculptor's  Wooing) 

334 — Miss  McDonald  . ., "". By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

339 — His  Heart's  Queen   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

340 — Bad  Hugh.    Vol.  I By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 


341— Bad  Hugh,    Vol.  II By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holme* 

344 — Tresilliaii    Court By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

345 — The  Scorned  Wife By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

346— Guy  Tresillian's  Fate By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

347 — The  Eyes  of  Love By  Charles  Garvice 

348 — The  Hearts  of  Youth By  Charles  Garvice 

351— The  Churchyard  Betrothal By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

352 — Family  Pride.    Vol.  I By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

353— Family  Pride.    Vol.  II By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

354 — A  Love  Comedy By  Charles  Garvice 

360 — The  Ashes  of  Love By  Charles  Garvice 

361 — \  Heart  Triumphant By  Charles  Garvice 

367 — The  Pride  of  Her  Life By  Charles  Garvice 

360— iWon  By  Love's   Valor By  Charles  Garvice 

372 — A  Girl  in  a  Thousand By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

373«-A  Thorn  Among  Roses  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

Sequel  to  "A  Girl  in  a  Thousand" 

380— Her  Double  Life By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

381 — The  Sunshine  of  Love By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  "Her  Double  Life" 

382— Mona By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

391 — Marguerite's  Heritage    By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

399 — Betsey's  Transformation By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

407 — Esther,  the  Fright  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

415 — Trixy By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

440 — Edna's  Secret  Marriage  By  Charles  Garvice 

449 — The  Bailiff's  Scheme  By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

450 — Rosamond's  Love  By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewii 

Sequel  to  "The  BaiUflf's  Scheme" 

451 — Helen's  Victory  By  Mrs,  Georgie  Sheldon 

456— A  Vixen's  Treachery By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

457— Adrift  in  the  World By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  "A  Vixen's  Treachery" 

'  458 — When  Love  Meets  Love By  Charles  Garvice 

464 — The  Old  Life's  Shadows By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

465 — Outside  Her  Eden  By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  "The  Old  Life's  Shadows" 

474 — The  Belle  of  the  Season By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

475 — Love  Before  Pride  By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  "The  Belle  of  the  Season" 

-  481— Wedded,  Yet  No  Wife By  May  Agnes  Fleming; 

i  489 — Lucy  Harding  By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

'  495 — Norine's  Revenge By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

I  SI  I — The  Golden  Key By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

jji2^-rA  Heritage  of  Love  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

Sequel  to  "The  Golden  Key" 

S19 — The  Magic  Cameo  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

5W>— The  Heatherford  Fortune  .......By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

Sequel  to  "The  Magic  Cameo" 

"0  '       '   • 


'fary  J.  Holmea 
Harriet  Lewis 
Harriet  Lewis 
Harriet  Lewis 
;harles  Garvice 
Carles  Garvice 
porgie  Sheldon 
a^  J.  Holmes 
ary  r.  Holmes 
•arles  Garvice 
narles  Garvice 
varies  Garvice 
larles  Garvice 
harles  Garvice 
orgie  Sheldon 
orgie  Sheldon 

garnet  Lewis 
t^arriet  Lewis 

^rgie  Sheldon 
Jrgie  Sheldon 
>rgie  Sheldon 
^rgie  Sheldon 
>rg»e  Sheldon 
arles  Garvice 
farriet  Lewis 
tarriet  Lewis 

rgie  Sheldon 
arriet  Lewii 
arriet  Lewis 

rles  Garvice 
irriet  Lewis 
irriet  Lewis 

rriet  I^wis 
rriet  Lewis 

es  Fleming 
J-  Holmes 
:S  Fleming 
le  Sheldon 
e  Sheldon 

e  Sheldon 
e  Sheldon 


CAUGHT  IN  THE  SNARE 


SEQUEL  TO 


"EDITH   PERCIVAL 

(NEW  EAGLE  SERIES  No.  103S) 


tt 


•  ;  BY 

MAY  AGNES  FLEMING 

Author   of    "A  Mad  Marriage,"    "A   Woman  Without  Mercy,** 

"Silent  and  True,"  "  A  Trcasiire  Lost, "  "Kate  Dan  ton," 

"Proud  as  a  Queen,"  and  numerous  other  books 

published  in  the   New  Eaglk  SERIKS. 


<■   .' 


STREET  &  SMITH  CORPORATION 

PUBLISHERS  :' 

79^89  Seventh  Avenue,  New  York 


'I 


OopyrlRht,  1893 
Bf  O.  W.  olllluKham 


Caaglit  in  tho  Snare 


i„,rm,wJSSKSt 


(Printed  in  the  United  States  of  Amerlc«)i 


N 


•.St\' 


SYNOPSIS  OF  "EDITH  PERaVAL.** 

When  the  War  of  Independence  broke  out  in  America,  Frederic 
Stanley  left  England  at  the  command  of  his  father  to  join  th« 
army  of  the  Royalists,  in  which  the  elder  man  held  an  importiiiit 
position.  His  son,  however,  had  different  views  and  had  dccidoil 
to  cast  his  lot  with  the  "rebels."  The  ship  on  which  he  sailed 
from  England  was  wrecked,  and  all  on  board  were  lost  with  the 
exception  of  the  captain,  young  Stanley,  and  his  friend,  Gus 
Elliott.  They  clung  to  a  raft  until  they  were  picked  up  by  an 
American  privateer.  Some  days  later  a  vessel  was  sighted  on 
lire,  and  a  volunteer  crew,  headed  by  Stanley,  went  to  the  rescue 
of  those  on  board,  among  whom  they  found  a  young  girl,  Edith 
Percival,  Gus  Elliott's  cousin.  All  were  taken  off  safely,  and 
when  they  arrived  at  Boston,  Edith  begged  Stanley  to  go  with 
her  to  her  home  and  receive  the  thanks  of  her  parents  for  having 
saved  her  life.  He  was  cordially  greeted  by  the  whole  family, 
including  Edith's  younger  sister,  Nell.  While  here,  he  learned, 
much  to  his  sorrow,  that  Edith  was  engaged  to  Ralph  de  Lisle, 
also  a  Royalist,  for  by  this  time  Stanley  was  very  deeply  in  love 
with  her.  When  he  told  his  father  that  he  would  not  fight 
against  his  countrymen.  Sir  William  became  violently  angry,  and 
ordered  him  from  his  home,  telling  him  that  if  he  were  caught 
with  the  rebels,  he  himself  would  have  him  shot.  Later  Frederic 
was  taken  prisoner  and  his  father  carried  out  his  threat  and  or- 
dered him  to  be  shot  as  a  spy,  but  released  him  at  the  request 
of  a  mysteridus  person  known  as  the  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs.  Edith 
told  her  fiance  that  she  did  not  love  him,  and  begged  him  to  re- 
lease her  from  her  engagement,  but  he  refused,  knowing  that  she 
was  in  love  with  Stanley.  Major  Percival,  being  a  Royalist,  also 
refused  to  allow  his  daughter  to  change  her  niind,  having  heard 
that  Stanley  was  on  the  side  of  the  rebels,  biit  postponed  her 
marriage  with  De  Lisle,  who,  infuriated  at  the  delay,  abducted 
her  and  kept  her  prisoner  in  a  lonely  house  in  the  care  of  an  old 
won^an  and  Elva  Snowe,  a  young  girl  from  the  neighboring  vil- 
lage. He  was  about  to  have  the  marriage  performed  here  when 
Stanley,  with  some  companions,  interrupted  the  ceremony.,  and  a 
skirmish  followed  in  which  several  of  the  combatants  were  killed, 
Stanley  and  Gus  Elliott  being  overcome  and  taken  prisoner  by 
De  Lisle's  men.  y 


CAUGHT  IN  THE  SNARE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JOE   SMITH. 

"Dost  deem  that  aught  can  hide  in  beggar  rags. 

A  heart  so  bold  as  mine? 
And  dream'st  thou  aught  of  common  danger  now 

Can  scare  me  from  my  purpose?" 

— Barry  Cornwall. 

To  explain  how  the  friends  of  Edith  discovered 
her  prison,  it  is  necessary  to  retrace  our  steps 
a  little. 

For  an  hour  or  two  after  her  departure  with 
De  Lisle,  Major  Percival  walked  thoughtfully 
up  and  down  the  broad  piazza,  debating  within 
himself  v/hether  it  were  better  to  wait  or  compel 
Edith  to  fulfill  her  engagement.  The  words  of 
Fred  Stanley  had  thrown  a  new  light  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  he  felt  convinced  that  her  affection  for 
him  was  the  cause  of  her  refusal.  To  marry  or 
not  to  marry,  therefore,  was  the  question ;  and  in 
a  state  of  unusual  indecision  the  majf)r  debated 
the  case  pro  and  con. 

While  thus  engaged,  Nell  came  rimning  up  the 
stairs,  and  stood  beside  him: 

^Tapa,  Where's  Edith?'* 


Joe  Smith. 


"Out  riding  with  De  Lisle." 

''With  De  Lisle?"  and  Nell's  eyes  opened  to 
their  widest  extent  with  amazement. 

''Eh?  What's  that?"  said  the  major,  turning 
round  sharply. 

"Nothing,  sir,"  said  Nelly  demurely,  "but  I 
really  thought  Ralph  de  Lisle  was  the  last  person 
Edith  would  go  anywhere  with." 

"And  why  not.  Miss  Impertinence?  Whom 
should  she  go  with,  if  not  with  her  future  hus- 
band?" 

"Why,  papa,  I  thought  Edith  refused  to  ful- 
fill her  engagement  ?"  r        \i; 

"We'll  make  her  fulfill  it,"  was  the  short,  sharp, 
and  decisive  reply. 

"Hem-m-m!  Perhaps  so,"  said  Nell,  with  a 
scarcely  perceptible  smile,  "but  if  I  were  in  her 
shoes,  I  know  I  would  not  have  gone  with  De 
Lisle  to-night." 

"You  wouldn't?"  And  a  storm  began  to 
gather  in  the  major's  eyes.    "Why,  may  I  ask?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  I  wouldn't  satisfy  him  so 
far;  besides,  he  might  try  to  run  away  with  me  or 
something.    I  wouldn't  trust  him." 

The  words  were  spoken  thoughtlessly ;  but  the 
major  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  stood  silent. 
Nell  left  him,  and  tripped  downstairs  to  join  Gus 
in  the  garden,  leaving  him  to  his  own  reflections. 

An  hour  passed  av.ay;  Nell  and  Gus  left  the 


Joe  Smith. 


opened  to 
^^,  turning 

fJy,  "but  I 

last  person 

Whom 
^ture  bus- 
ed to  ful- 
^rt,  sharp, 

h  with  a 

re  in  her 

v/ith  De 

•egan   to 
I  ask?" 
'  him  so 
•h  me  or 

but  the 
silent. 
>in  Gus 
-ctions. 
^ft  the 


garden  and  piazza  for  the  cool,  pleasant  parlor; 
but  the  major  still  remained  watching  for  the 
arrival  of  Edith  and  De  Lisle.  Another  hour 
passed  on,  and  still  they  came  not.  The  major 
began  to  feel  anxious  and  angry  at  the  prolonged 
absence.  His  anxiety  communicated  itself  to  the 
other  members  of  the  family,  as  another  hour 
wore  away  without  them.  A  thousand  conjec- 
tures were  formed  as  to  the  cause  of  this  un- 
accountable absence,  but  none  seemed  satisfac- 
tory. As  midnight  approached,  uneasiness 
changed  into  real  alarm ;  and  the  major  and  Gus, 
unable  to  endure  the  suspense  longer,  mounted 
their  horses,  and  rode  off  in  the  direction  they 
had  taken. 

A  sleepless  night  was  passed  in  Percival  Hall. 
Early  in  the  morning,  both  returned  from  their 
fruitless  search,  weary  and  dispirited.  No  clew 
could  be  discovered;  and  all  gazed  into  one  an- 
other's faces,  pale  with  terror.. 

Half  an  hour  a  "cer  their  return,  a  servant  en- 
tered, bearing  a  note  which  he  said  had  been 
given  him  by  a  man  who  immediately  departed. 
The  major  glanced  at  the  superscription,  and 
recognized  the  bold,  free  hand  of  De  Lisle. 
Tearing  it  open,  he  read: 

**My  DiEAR  Sir:  As  for  reasons,  doubtless, 
you  decline  besiowing  on  me  the  hand  oi  your 


8 


Joe  Smith. 


fair  daughter,  I  am  under  the  painful  necessity 
of  making  her  my  wife  without  troubhng  you  to 
give  her  away.  For  your,  own  sake,  I  feel  con- 
vinced you  will  not  make  a  public  affair  of  this, 
as  I  judged  you  have  too  much  pride  to  allow 
your  daughter's  good  name  to  become  a  byword 
for  the  town.  Reat  assured  she  shall  be  treated 
with  all  the  respect  due  the  daughter  of  so  dis- 
tinguished a  gentleman  as  Major  Percival;  and 
when  once  my  wife,  shall  be  restored  to  her  home 
on  one  condition.  It  is,  that  you  will  give  me 
her  fortune  as  a  sort  of  ransom,  which,  as  you 
are  wealthy,  no  doubt  you  will  willingly  do.  If 
you  refuse,  why  then  it  will  be  all  the  worse  for 
your  pretty,  but  rather  stubborn  daughter.  The 
retreat  to  which  I  have  taken  her  is  secure,  and 
you  cannot  discover  it;  therefore,  you  had  betten 
make  up  your  mind  to  comply  with  my  terms  at 
once.  If  you  do,  your  daughter  shall  be  immedi- 
ately restored  to  you;  if  not 

**I  have  the  honor,  my  dear  sir,  to  remain, 
**Yourse  sincerely,      Ralph  de  Lisle."' 

'The  scoundrel!  The  treacherous,  deceitful 
villain!"  thundered  the  major,  springing  to  his 
feet,  white  with  passion. 

"What  is  it?''  demanded  Gus  and  Nell,  while 
Mrs.  Percival's  eyes  asked  the  same  question, 
though  her  lips  were  silent. 

"Read  that !"  exclaimed  the  major,  as  he  flung 
the  missive  he  had  crumpled  in  his  hand,  fiercely 
from  him.     **Read  that!    For  I  cannot  tell  you!^' 


fill  necessity 
xhling  you  to 
'  i  feel  con- 
rfair  of  this, 
J<Je  to  alJow 
lie  a  byword 
^1  be  treated 
^'  of  so  dis- 
erciva];  and 
to  her  home 
^!^^  give  me 
iich,  as  you 
igiy  do.     If 
e  worse  for 
rhter.    The 
secure,  and 
•  had  better 
ly  terms  at 
be  immedi- 

remain, 
Lisle/' 

(deceitful 
ng  to  his 

ell,  while 
question, 

he  flung 
>  fiercely 
eil  you  f^* 


Joe  Smith. 


Nell  took  it  up  and  read  it  slowly  from  begin-, 
ning  to  end. 

''Merciful  heavens!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Percival, 
*'what  shall  we  do?" 

''Do?"  shouted  the  major.  '^I'll  send  a  bullet 
through  his  heart  if  ever  my  eyes  light  on  him 
again.  The  black-hearted  villain!  Is  this  his 
return  for  all  I  have  done  for  him?  My  daugh- 
ter !  My  daughter  in  the  power  of  such  a  vil- 
lain!"      ,:    ,      .        ; 

''My  dear  sir,  what  is  the  matter?"  cxchimed 
a  well-known  voice;  and  looking  up,  they  beheld 
Nugent,  dusty  and  travel  worn,  standing  before 
them. 

In  a  few  words  Nell  related  all  that  had  hao- 
pened,  for  the  rest  were  too  much  excited  to  do 
so,  and  ended  by  placing  De  Lisle's  letter  in  his 
hand.  The  brow  of  Nugent,  grew  dark,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  fiercely,  but  subduing  all  other  signs 
of  anger,  he  turned  to  his  father,  and  said: 
Well,  sir,  on  w^hat  plan  have  you  decided?** 
Tlan?  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  of  pursu- 
ing that  scoundrel  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
Mount,  mount,  and  after  him!" 

"Stay!"  cried  a  voice  that  made  them  all  start, 
it  was  so  stern  and  commanding.  "Are  you  mad 
to  start  on  such  a  wild-goose  chase?  Wait;  fol- 
low my  directions,  and  all  will  be  well!" 

They  looked  up,  and,  to  their  amazement,  the 


((^ 


<i- 


;-M.. —  ,..■■,.  .-it.. 


iMosm 


_  ^  i.g  .   I  Hill  I     III  I 


Joe  Smith. 


Hermit  of  the  Cliffs  stood  before  them  Hke  some 
prophet  of  old,  in  his  flowing  robes,  majestic 
bearing,  and  snowy  hair. 

''You  here!"  exclaimed  Nugent  in  surprise. 

"And  wherefore  not,  my  son?** 

"I  thought  you  were  in  the  city.  You  were 
there  a  short  time  ago/*  said  Nugent. 

"Whithersoever  my  duty  leads  me,  there  am 
I,'*  answered  the  hermit  in  his  calm,  grave  voice. 
"The  wolf  hath  stolen  a  lamb  from  the  flock,  and 
the  rest  shall  be  left  in  the  desert  while  we  search 
for  the  one  that  is  lost.  Listen  to  me,  and  go  not 
forth  rashly." 

"This  is  no  time  for  fooling!"  exclaimed  the 
major  impatiently.  "Stand  aside,  old  man,  and 
let  us  begone!" 

"Nay,  there  is  one  come  who  will  show  you 
the  way,"  said  the  herLiit.  "Why  should  you 
W.ander  in  the  dark  when  there  is  light  at  hand?" 

"Do  you  know  where  my  daughter  is?"  de- 
manded Major  Percival,  fixing  his  eyes  sternly 
upon  him. 

"One  is  at  hand  who  does,"  repeated  the 
he  mit,  in  the  same  quiet  tone.  "My  hand  may 
not  point  out  the  way,  but  trust  in  him  who  will 
follow  me.  His  eyes  have  been  opened,  and  to 
him  it  is  given  to  rescue  the  maiden  of  the  house 
of  Percival." 

Pshaw!     Why  do  we  stay,  listening  to  such 


^(^ 


loe  Smith. 


II 


like  some 
»;   niajestic 

irprise. 

IVou  were 

there  ani 
ave  voice, 
^ock,  and 
we  search 
n<^  go  not 

timed  the 
^lan,  and 

(low  you 
mJd  you 

hand  ?" 
is?"  de- 

sternly 

ed  the 
id  may 
ho  will 
and  to 

house 

)  such 


nonsense?"  demanded  the  major  impetuously. 
"What  can  this  hoary  old  man  know  of  Edith? 
Let  us  away;  why  should  we  waste  time  linger- 
ing here?" 

He  turned  to  go,  but  the  hand  of  the  hermit 
was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

*'You  shall  remain,  Major  Percival!"  he  said, 
in  the  same  firm,  calm  tone  of  command.  *'lt  is 
given  me  to  know  that  if  you  now  set  out,  you 
will  prove  unsuccessful.  Remain;  he  who  com- 
eth  after  me  is  at  hand,  and  when  he  arrives,  with 
your  son  and  this  youth,  let  him  search  for  the 
lost  daughter  of  your  house;  but  do  you  remain 
here  and  watch  over  those  who  are  left." 

He  bowed  slowly  and  with  grave  dignity,  and 
folding  his  garment  around  him,  quitted  the 
house. 

All  stood  in  amazement  and  uncertainty. 
Surprise,  that  he  should  know  already  what  had 
occurred,  and  wonder  at  the  probable  meaning 
of  his  words,  were  mingled  with  an  uncertainty 
whether  to  f611ow  his  advice  or  not.  The  major 
and  Nugent  thought  of  the  strange  power  he 
exercised  over  Sir  William  Stanley,  and  in  spite 
of  their  impatience  were  half  inclined  to  follow 
his  advice.  Ere  they  could  fully  determine  what 
course  to  pursue,  however,  Fred  Stanley,  his  fine 
face  flushed,  and  his  garments  disordered,  stood 
before  them. 


]o€  Smith. 


"Stanley,  by  all  that's  wonderful!"  exclaimed 
Nugent,  in  unbounded  astonishment. 

The  major's  brow  grew  dark  as  night;  but  the 
young  man,  in  his  excitement,  scarcely  seemed  to 
notice  him.  .,  ^     ^   ^  ■■  ■  ;  .. 

"What  has  happened?  Where  is  Edith*"  was 
his  first  demand. 

"Young  man,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell 
us  what  sent  you  here?"  said  the  major  sternly, 
stepping  forward. 

"Certainly,  sir!"  said  Fred,  with  a  stiff  bow; 
"this  singular  note."  And  he  drew  forth  a  letter, 
and  handed  it  to  the  major,  who  opened  it  and 
read: 

"Ride,  ride  for  your  life  to  Percival  Hall.  She 
whom  you  love  is  in  the  power  of  your  rival. 
He  has  carried  her  off  by  force.  Take  the  road 
to  the  north,  near  the  village  of  R.  are  the  nine 
woods,  where  an  old  mansion  of  De  Lisle^s  is 
situated.     There  you  will  find  Edith   Percival. 

*'E.  S.,  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs," 

**Let  us  start  instantly !"  exclaimed  the  major. 
*'Every  moment  is  precious." 

"You  had  better  follow  the  directions  of  the 
hermit,  and  remain  here,"  said  Nugent.  "We 
three,  with  one  or  two  friends,  will  be  enough. 
De  Lisle's  men  are  in  all  probability  far  enough 
from  their  leader,  who  feels  too  secure  in  his  re- 
treat to  dread  a  visit  from  us.     Besides,  I  have 


Joe  Smith. 


13 


a  message  for  you  from  your  friend,  Colonel 
Greyson,  which  admits  of  no  delay,  and  will  ab- 
solutely prevent  your  goiiig  with  us." 

The  major  seemed  still  uncertain;  but  the 
others  joined  Nugent  in  urging  him  to  obey  the 
hermit  and  remain  behind. 

Having  at  length  reluctantly  consented,  Fred, 
Gus,  and  young  Percival,  with  one  or  two  friends, 
started  in  the  direction  pointed  out  by  the  hermit. 

Having  reached  the  place  indicated,  they  se- 
creted themselves  in  the  woods,  while  Nugent, 
who  was  familiar  with  the  place,  went  to  recon- 
noiter. 

He  soon  returned  with  the  ominous  intelligence 
that  there  was  a  force  six  times  their  number  in 
the  old  house,  and  that  it  would  ruin  their  cause 
altogether  to  attempt  at  present  to  contend 
against  such  odds.  Nothing  remained,  there- 
fore, but  to  lie  in  wait,  and  seize  the  first  favor- 
able opportunity.  None,  however,  presented  it- 
self;  and  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  ac- 
cidentally ovCi hearing  a  conversation  betw^een 
two  of  De  Lisle's  men,  by  which  they  learned  the 
marriage  was  to  take  place  that  very  day,  they 
determined  at  all  risks  to  make  the  attempt,  the 
result  of  which  is  already  known  to  the  reader. 

Half  an  hour  after  his  interview  with  Edith, 
De  Lisle  sat  in  his  own  room,  eating  a  hasty 
breakfast  ere  he  departed  on  his  journey.     His 


u 


Joe  Smith. 


meditations  were  at  length  abruptly  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  Nan  Crow,  who,  in  her  usual 
screeching  tones,  announced  that  a  boy  without 
wished  to  see  him. 

''What  does  he  want?",  said  De  Lisle. 

**Want?'*  repeated  Miss  Crow,  "yes,  he  wants 
to  se^  you." 

''What  is  his  business?"  demanded  De  Lisle, 
raising  his  voice. 

"None  of  my  business!"  exclaimed  Miss  Crow 
in  rising  wrath;  "allers  the  way  every  one  treatS 
me  arter  a  trottin'  me  oflf  my  legs  with  the  rhu- 
matiz  in  the  small  of  my  back,  a  bringing  of  pesky 
young  gals  to  'tend  on,  what  ain't  no  business 
here,  a  fighten  and  sitten  up  killing  of  one  an- 
other, with  the  rhumatiz  in  the  small  of  my 
back- " 

"Go  to  the  deuce,  you  old  fool !"  angrily  inter- 
rupted De  Lisle,  "be  off  with  you  and  bring  him 
here,  whoever  he  is !" 

Muttering  to  herself.  Nan  Crow  quitted  the 
room,  and  presently  reappeared  with  a  youth  of 
some  sixteen  years,  a  rough,  uncouth-looking  lad. 

He  was  small  for  his  age,  and  dressed  in  a  suit 
of  coarse  gray  homespun,  which  looked,  to  use 
a  common  but  expressive  phrase,  as  though  they 
had  been  thrown  on  by  a  pitchfork.  His  face 
was  bronzed  and  darkened  by  exposure  to  the 
sun,  his  eyes  were  bri<jht  and  intelligent,  and 


ii- 


Jot  Srmih. 


15 


.shone  and  glittered  like  glass  beads  through  the 
coarse  masses  of  uncombed  sandy  hair.  His 
walk  was  peculiar,  as  he  shuffled  along  in  a  pair 
of  huge  cowhide  boots,  dragging  his  legs  after 
him  as  though  they  belonged  to  somebody  else. 

Such  was  the  lad  who  now  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
before  De  Lisle,  shifting  uneasily  from  one  foot 
to  the  other. 

**Who  are  you?"  demanded  De  Lisle,  gazing 
rather  contemptuously  at  the  newcomer. 

"Joe  Smith,  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  with  a 
ftrong  nasal  twang  of  ''deown  East." 

"What  do  you  want  ?" 

"Waal,  I  kinder  kalkerlated  on  gettin'  work." 

"Work  ?     What  kind  of  work  ?"  said  De  Lisle. 

"Waal,  I  ain't  particular ;  most  anything  comes 
handy  to  me." 

"What  have  you  been  accustomed  to?" 

"Little  of  everything,  boss.  I  gen'ly  worked 
oti  the  farm  to  hum." 

"Why  did  you  leave  'hum'  as  you  call  it  ?" 

"Waal,  me  and  mother  and  Glory  Ann  thought 
as  how  Fd  better  come  to  Bosting  and  'list ;  but 
arter  lookin'  round  a  spell,  I  didn't  like  it,  and 
kincluded  'twasn't  no  sich  fun  to  be  shot  at  as 
'twas  cracked  up  to  be."  . 

"What  induced  you  to  come  here?" 

"Why,  I'd  beam  tell  o'  you  some,  and  thought 
maybe  you  wouldn't  mind  hirin*  a  new  hand  to 


i6 


Joe  Smith 


cook  vittils,  and  briiij^  water,  and  chop  wood,  and 
sich.  You  sec,  boss,  I'm  rather  a  smart  chap, 
'specially  arter  a  Hckin' ;  and  didn't  sec  no  reason 
why  I'd  waste  my  talents  a-raising  punkins  all 
my  life;  so  when  J  makes  my  fortin  here,  I  in- 
tends goin'  home,  and  gettin'  spliced  onto  Glory 
''Ann  Lazybones,  a  gal  what's  a  reg'lar  buster  and 
no  mistake." 

"You  are  an  original,"  said  De  Lisle,  rather 
amused,  "but  I  am  surprised  that  you  do  not 
wish  to  join  the  rebels,  like  so  many  others  of 
your  class."  ^ 

*'Waal,  boss,  I  alters  had  high  ideers  since  I 
was  'bout  so  old,  when  I  used  to  ride  roun'  every 
day  on  mother's  old  clotheshorse  for  exercise. 
These  here  rebels  ain't  no  'count,  and  bein'  the 
weaker  party,  I  intends  pitchin'  into  'em  like  a 
thousand  o*  bricks.  Mother  allers  sez — sez  she: 
'Joe,'  sez  she,  'you  stick  to  the  strongest  party, 
my  son,  it's  allers  best,'  so,  in  course,  as  I'm  a 
dootiful  son,  I  obeys  the  old  'oman.  'Sides,  if 
I  turn  Britisher,  and  help  to  lick  our  boys  there's 
no  tellin'  but  what  they'll  want  to  make  a  lord  or 
an  earl  o'  me  one  o'  these  days.  Lord  Joe  Smith! 
Jee-whittica !  that  sounds  sort  o'  grand,  don't  it?" 

"I  see,  number  one's  your  lookout!"  said  De 
Lisle.  ''Well,  since  your  ambition  soars  so  high, 
it  would  be  a  pity  to  deprive  Glory  Ann  of  the 


Joe  Smith. 


17 


chance  to  become  Lady  Smith;  so  I  don't  mind 
taking  you  into  my  service." 

*'Thankce,  boss;  you're  a  brick!"  interrupted 
Mr.  Smith,  patronizinj^ly. 

''Don't  be  so  famiHar,  sir,"  said  De  Lisle, 
sharply.  **Learn  a  little  more  respect  when  ad- 
dressing your  betters.  For  the  present,  your 
duty  will  consist  in  assisting  my  housekeeper  in 
her  household  affairs,  and  in  looking  after  and 
attending  to  the  wants  of  two  or  three  prisoners 
confined  here.  One  of  my  men  will  direct  you 
what  to  do.  And  now,  to  begin  your  new  duties, 
go  and  saddle  my  horse,  and  bring  him  round  to 
the  door.'* 

"All  right,  siree!"  replied  Joe,  clapping  his  hat 
on  his  head,  and  giving  it  a  vigorous  thump  down 
over  his  eyes,  as  he  hastened  out  to  obey  the 
order,  leaving  De  Lisle  to  finish  his  breakfast. 

''There  is  yet  one  more  duty  to  perform,"  mut- 
tered De  Lisle;  "one  so  agreeable  that  it  amply 
compensates  for  all  the  humiliation  I  have  been, 
through  him, ,  forced  to  endure.  Master  Fred 
Stanley,  I  go  to  pay  you  a  morning  visit,  and  see 
how  you  estimate  my  kind  hospitality  in  keep- 
ing you  here  my  guest."  ^  , 

The  sinister  smile  he  wore  mavie  his  face  al- 
most repulsive,  as  he  arose  and  left  the  room. 

Passing  through  a  long  hall,  he  descended  a 
jQight  of  narrow  winding  ^tairs^  and  stood  in  an- 


m 


i8 


Joe  Smith. 


rn 


other  long  hall,  flanked  on  each  side  by  doors.  A 
sentry  stood  pacing  to  and  fro  before  them.  He 
paused  and  touched  his  hat  respectfully  on  see- 
ing De  Lisle. 

"Where  is  Stanley  confined?"  he  inquired. 

**Here,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  opening  one  of 
the  doors  to  allow  him  to  enter. 

De  Lisle  passed  in,  and  found  himself  in  a 
gloomy  room,  with  a  damp,  unwholesome  odor. 
Seated  on  a  low  stool,  the  only  article  of  furni- 
ture it  contained,  was  Fred  Stanley,  his  forehead 
leaning  on  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor, 
his  brow  knit,  as  though  in  deep,  troubled  thought. 
As  the  creaking  of  the  heavy  door  fell  on  his  ear, 
he  looked  up  quickly,  and  sprang  to  his  feet  as 
he  saw  his  mortal  foe  before  him. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  silently  facing  each 
other — those  two  rivals.  De  Lisle's  face  wore  a 
look  of  triumph,  mingled  with  most  intense  and 
deadly  hatred.  A  bitter,  sneering  smile  was  on 
his  lip,  and  a  look  of  gratified  malice  in  his 
eyes.  Fred,  stern  and  cold  and  haughty,  stood 
opposite  him,  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast, 
returning  his  gaze  with  such  a  look  of  lofty  scorn, 
that,  in  spite  of  himself,  De  Lisle  quailed  before 
him. 

**WelI,  Fre(leric  Stanley,  my  hour  of  triumph 
has  come,"  said  De  Lisle,  with  a  look  of  malig- 
nant hate. 


H 


Joe  Smith. 


19 


''Villain,  do  your  worst,  I  defy  you!"  was  the 
bold  answer. 

"That  most  assuredly  I  shall  do,"  returned  De 
Lisle.  **Before  the  sun's  rise  and  set,  you  shall 
die  the  ignominious  death  of  the  halter." 

*'Do  your  worst,  Ralph  de  Lisle;  I  fear  you 
not!"  was  the  rejoinder. 

*'When  you  crossed  my  path,  and  won  the  af- 
fections of  her  whom  I  loved,  I  swore  a  deadlv 
oath  of  vengeance>  Fortune  has  favored  me,  the 
time  has  come,  and  your  hours  are  numbered. 
She  whom  you  love  is  in  my  poyer,  and  the  same 
hour  which  will  see  you  swinging  a  discolored - 
corpse  between  heaven  and  earth  will  see  her  a 
bride  in  my  arms.  You  both  began  a  dangerous 
game,  Fred  Stanley,  when  you  thwarted  my 
wishes,  as  you  will  find  when  the  halter  is  around 
your  neck,  and  as  she  will  discover  when,  after 
making  her  mine,  I  will  whisper  in  her  ear  the 
fate  of  him  whom  she  loves  better  than  life/- 

"Fiend!  Devil  in  human  form'  Do  your 
worst,  and  may  the  heaviest  curse  of  Heaven 
fall  upon  you!"  exclaimed  Fred,  growing  livid 
with  passion. 

**Ha!  I  thought  you  would  feel  that!"  said 
De  Lisle,  with  a  grim  smile.  "You  will  have 
ample  time  to  meditate  on  these  and  many  other 
consoling  truths  between  this  and  the  day  of 
doom.     It  will  also,  doubtless,  be  a  pleasure  to 


TO 


Joe  Smith. 


1,1 


you  to  know  that  Edith  will  be  a  prisoner  under 
the  same  roof  with  you  until  my  return,  which 
may  be  to-morrow,  or  at  the  furthest,  three  days 
hence.  And  noW  it  occurs  to  me  that  my  revenge 
will  be  greater  to  allow  you  to  be  present  at  our 
bridal.  I  will  thus  have  a  double  triumph  over 
you  both."  -- 

"A  fiend  could  not  be  more  diabolical!"  ex- 
claimed Fred,  paling  involuntarily  at  his  words. 

'*Have  I  not  well  learned  the  art  of  torturing?" 
went  on  De  Lisle,  with  a  fiendish  smile.  *' Death 
itself  would  be  nothing,  that  would  be  a  poor  tri- 
umph; I  know  you  well  enough  to  be  aware  that 
you  do  not  fear  death ;  but  the  torture  I  shall  in- 
flict before  death  will  last  even  after  the  soul  has 
left  the  body.  I  will  leave  you  now  to  repose 
and  solitude.  You  will  have  ample  time,"  he 
added,  with  a  sneer,  ''to  meditate  on  your  latter 
end,  and  make  your  peace  with  Heaven  ,during 
my  absence.  Should  I  return  to-morrow,  before 
another  sun  sets  you  shall  swing  as  high  as  Ha- 
man.     Au  re  voir." 

And  turning  on  his  heel,  he  strode  from  the 


room. 


To-morcow?"  repeated  P>ed,  gazing  after  his 
retreating  figure,  ''who  knows  what  to-morrowi 
may  bring  forth  ?" 


^  '-*u*;>n 


:  :         CHAPTER  II. 

V  JOE   VISITS    HIS    PRISONER|l.. 

;    ;'•        'Trust  in  God! 

Thou  forlorn  one,  cease  thy  moan;  • 

'    All  thy  pain  and  all  thy  sorrow, 
^    Are  to  God,  the  Highest  known ;    .      .... 
He  leaves  thee  now,  but  helps  to-morrow. 
Trust  in  God!" 

The  bright  sunshine  of  the  morning  follow- 
ing that  eventful  night  shone  into  Editu's  room,; 
but  it  was  all  unheeded  by  her.  She  lay  On  her 
face  on  the  bed,  not  sleeping,  but  in  a  deep,  heavy 
torpor,  her  white  arms  extended  above  her  head, 
so  still  and  motionless  that  but  for  the  quick 
breathing  one  might  imagine  her  dead. 

Not  of  herself  was  she  thinking,  but  of  those 
for  whom  she  would  have  given  her  life,  of  one 
whom  she  would  gladly  have  died  to  save.  Fred! 
Fred  I  All  through  that  miserable  night  his 
name  had  been  on  her  lips,  his  image  alone  in 
her  heart.  Never  again  would  she  meet  those 
dear,  dark  eyes,  already,  perhaps,  closed  forever; 
that  brave  heart,  whose  every  throb  had  been  for 
her,  might  now  be  cold  and  still  in  death.  All 
that  had  ever  made  life  desirable  seenfed  lost  to 
her  forever,  and  in  the  glad  sunshine  of  that 
bright  morning  she  lay  and  prayed  for  death. 


•/, 


>r!!!,l 


l;^ 


I  'i 


22 


Joe  Visits  His  Prisoners. 


The  bolt  was  withdrawn,  the  door  opened, 
some  one  entered,  but  she  did  not  look  up.  She 
was  conscious  that  some  one  was  bending  over 
her,  but  still  she  did  not  move  until  she  heard  a 
strange  voice  muttering  in  a  sort  of  soliloquy: 

''Crickey!  She  beats  the  seven  sleepers,  she 
does.  Tm  blamed  if  she  ain't  as  sound  as  a  top. 
Waal,  I  s'pose  Td  better  leave  the  vittals  here, 
and  arter  her  snooze' she'll  fall  to."     . 

With  a  start,  Edith  rose  on  her  elbow,  and 
gazed  around.  Her  amazement  at  beholding  the 
uncouth  figure  and  face  of  honest  Joe  Smith  may 
be  imagined.  So  completely  was  she  bewildered 
that  she  continued  to  stare  at  him  between  sur- 
prise and  terror,  scarcely  knowing  whether  to 
cry  out  for  help  or  not.  Joe,  however,  bore  her 
scrutiny  with  wonderful  composure,  and  re- 
turned her  stare  with  compound  interest. 

''Good  mornin',  mann,  fine  day  this ;  how's  your 
folks?  I  hope  the  old  woman  and  all  the  folks 
to  hum  is  well,"  said  Joe  in  a  tone  of  condescend- 
ing politeness. 

**What?"  said  Edith,  rather  bewildered  by  the 
rapidity  with  which  this  speech  was  delivered. 

''Never  mind,  'tain't  worth  sayin*  over  again," 
said  Joe.  "I  hope  I  didn't  disturb  any  pleasant 
dreams  o'  yourn.  You  was  sleepin'  away  like 
all  creation  when  I  came  in." 


iilr4|>  : 


joe  y'isits  His  Prisoners. 


23 


/ 


"Who  sent  you  here?"  inquired  Edith,  whcse 
terror  had  not  quite  vanished. 

"Waal,  the  cap'n  did,  marm,'*  repUed  Joe;  **I 
'xpect  Fm  to  be  waitin'  maid  till  he  comes  back. 
I  hain't  no  objections  to  it,  though,  *cause,  maybe, 
I'll  be  able  to  larn  Glory  Ann  somethin'  in  her 
line  arter  I  go  back  to  hum.  Here's  your  break- 
fas',  marm,  what  that  jolly  old  case  down  in  the 
kitchen  sent  me  with.  Seems  to  me  the  cap'n's 
got  a  taste  for  keepin'  people  in  the  lockup,  judg- 
in'  by  all  I've  'tended  to  this  mornin'.  Let's  see 
two  and  one's  three  and  one's  four— four  I've  vis- 
ited this  mornin',  countin'  you." 

An  exclamation  of  delight  broke  involuntarily 
from  the  lips  of  Edith.  Three  besides  her! 
Then  Fred  was  living  still. 

*'Hey?  What  is  it?  Did  you  stick  a  pin  in 
you?"  inquired  Joe,  mistaking  the  cause  of  her 
emotion. 

''Who  were  the  three  you  visited  this  morn- 
ing?" she  inquired,  with  breathless  interest. 

'AVaal,  let's  see,"  said  Joe,  closing  one  eye  and 
laying  his  forefinger  meditatively  on  the  point  of 
his  nose,  ''the  first,  I  think,  somebody  called 
Goose,  or  somethin'  about  the  size  o'  that." 

'Gus,"  amended  Edith  eagerly. 

'Yaas,  Gus,  or  Goose,  or  some  sort  o'  a  fowl. 
1  found  him  lyin'  on  the  floor,  takin*  a  snfooze, 
I  s'pose,  somethin'  like  I  found  you.     He  got  up 


iit 


if 


ffgSir^;! 


24 


Joe  Visits  His  Prisoners. 


iki- 


.I'i 


when  I  came  in,  and  fell  to  the  vittals  as  if  he'd 
been  livin'  on  pavin'  stones  for  a  weekj  an'  'tween 
every  mouthful  he  took  to  askin'  me  a  string  o' 
questions  long  as  a  lawyer's  conscience.  He 
wanted  to  know  all  the  particulars  'bout  you,  and 
'fore  he'd  give  me  time  to  answer  one  of  'em,  he 
blowed  the  cap'n  and  the  whole  blamed  consarn 
sky  high.  'Twa'n't  ho  use  to  try  to  reason  mat- 
ters with  him,  'cause  when  I  took  to  arguin', 
'fore  I  got  to  thirdly,  he  told  me  to  go  and  be 
hanged.  You  see  I  couldn't  stand  that,  I  wasn't 
used  to  it,  mother  never  'lowed  no  profane 
swearin'  to  hum,  so  I  just  told  him  to  be  hanged 
himself,  if  he  liked,  but  as  for  me,  I  was  like  the 
iHighlandman,  in  no  hurry."        ^z      >  - 

**What  Highlandman  ?"  inquired  Edith  ab- 
sently. 

"Why,  some  old  Scotch  big  bug,  long  ago,  had 
a  servant  that  did  somethin',  I  forgot  what,  and 
he  was  goin'  to  hang  him  for  it.  But,  you  see, 
the  servant  had  been  a  favorite  of  his,  so  his 
master  told  him  he'd  grant  him  the  favor  of 
choosing  whichever  tree  in  his  orchard  he'd  like 
to  be  hung  on.  The  servant  was  tickled  to  death 
to  hear  it  an'  went  out  to  choose  the  tree  with 
his  master.  At  last,  he  stopped  before  a  goose- 
berry bush,  and  said  he'd  be  hung  onto  that. 

"  *Go  to  grass !'  sez  his  master ;  'that  ain't  big 
enough  to  hang  a  six-footer  like  you  on!'- 


Joe  Visits  His  Prisoners. 


25 


";Oh,  well,'  sez  the  servant,  Til  wait  till  it 
grows  big.     I'm  in  no  hurry!'  " 

''But  the  others — the  others?"  exclaimed 
Edith,  who  had  listened  impatiently  to  this  di- 
gression. 

*'0h,  ya-as,  just  so.  Well,  the  next  was  the 
very  pictor  o'  you,  s'pect  he  must  be  some  rela- 
tion. He  was  sittin'  down  onto  a  bench,  an' 
asked  me  a  few  questions,  not  many,  though, 
'bout  a  dozen  or  so — if  I'd  seen  you,  and  where 
was  the  boss,  and  so  on.  It  was  sort  o'  com- 
fortable to  talk  to  him  'sides  the  other  two,  who 
didn't  seem  to  have  a  single  grain  o'  senses  in 
their  knowledge  boxes." 

i      "And  the  third?"  demanded  Edith  hurriedly. 

*'Him?  Oh,  Jerusalem!  I've  seen  a  wildcat, 
I've  seen  a  bear  with  a  sore  head,  I've  seen  a 
gander  when  somebody  carried  off  the  goslin's 
before  him,  I've  see  mother  in  a  passion,  and 
a-flarin'  around  at  the  governor,  but  I  never, 
never,  never  saw  such  a  savage,  wild-lookin'  stun- 
ner as  t'other  one.  Cracky !  When  I  went  in  thar, 
he  was  a-tearin'  up  and  down  as  though  he  was 
boun'  to  have  a  walk  somehow  if  the  floor  held 
out,  lookin'  so  sort  o'  savage  lookin*  an'  fierce, 
that  I  like  to  spilt  his  breakfas'  a  top  of  him. 
It's  lucky  I  didn't;  for  if  he'd  got  his  dander  riz 
j  any  wuss,  I  don't  know  whar  Joe  Smith'd  be 


26 


Joe  Visits  His  Prisoners. 


now.  Fm  blamed  if  I  ever  seen  any  one  in  sich 
a  tearin'  rage  as  that  cove  was  in." 

"It  must  have  been  Fred,"  thought  Edith. 
*'Was  he  wounded,  how  did  he  look?"  she  asked 
aloud. 

"Waal,  marm,  I  don't  know  as  I  kin  tell,"  said 
Joe  thoughtfully.  "He  set  me  into  sich  a  lius- 
terification,  that  it  was  most  a  danger  to  look 
at  him.  He  nad  a  black  coat  and  trousis,  and 
hair  on,  and  was  as  tall  as — as — I  don't  know 
who.  He  was  sort  o'  darkish  lookin',  with  a 
black  murstuasher  onto  his  upper  lip.  Some 
people  might  call  him  good  lookin' ;  but  Glory  Ann 
allers  sez  fair  hair's  the  nicest."  And  Joe  gave 
his  tow  locks  a  complacent  shake. 

''Would  you  take  a  message  from  me  to  them?" 
inquired  Edith  eagerly. 

"Waal,  now,  I  don't  know,"  said  Joe  rather 
reluctantly;  "'twould  be  sorter  agin  orders,  you 
know.  Sorry  to  refuse  you,  marm,  but  I  can't 
help  it." 

"Tell  him,  at  least,  that  I  will  die  sooner  than 
marry  De  Lisle.  You  will  befriend  me  by  do- 
ing so;  and  you  can  do  no  one  any  possible  in- 
jury," said  Edith  pleadingly. 

*Tell  who,  marm — which  of  'em?'' 

"The  one  you  spoke  of  last." 

"Oh !  the  fierce-lookin'  one.  Yes'm,  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  him.     But  I  guess  he  won't  care.     I 


Joe  Visits  His  Prisoners, 


27 


one  in  sich 


don't  believe  he'd  go  to  the  weddin'  if  he  was 
asked." 

''You  will  tell  him,  at  least?  You  will  not 
forget  it?'*  said  Edith  anxiously. 

"Oh,  no  fear;  I'll  tell  him  if  he  does  blow  me 
up.  Tany  rate,  I  guess  wed<Kn's  is  the  last  thing 
he'll  think  about,  'cause  the  boss  is  boun'  to  string 
him  up  like  a  dried  mackerel  soon  as  ever  he 
comes  back." 

A  convulsive  shudder  was  Edith's  only  answer. 

"Waal,  now,  marm,  I  wouldn't  take  on  so  if 
I  was  you,"  said  Joe,  gazing  sympathetically  to- 
ward Edith.  "Arter  all,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
things  should  turn  out  all  right  in  the  end. 
P'rhaps  youVe  hearn  tell  o*  people  entertainin' 
angels  in  disguise?" 

Edith  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  at  him  with 
so  much  surprise,  that  Joe  laughed  and  said: 

"Keep  up  heart — there's  nothing  like  it.  I 
shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  me  and  Glory  Ann  danced 
at  your  weddin'  yet.  There's  never  no  use  in 
frettin'.     Hope  on,  hope  ever!" 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Edith,  with  an  unde- 
fined feeling  that  she  had  heard  the  voice  before. 

"Lor'!  Vm  only  Joe  Smith,  from  Bungtown. 
Old  Jake  Smith's  my  governor,  an*  me  an'  Glory 
Ann  Lazybones  is  gcfin*  to  hitch  teams  one  of 
these  times,  when  they  make  a  lord  or  somethin* 


28 


Joe  Visits  His  Prisoners. 


'k^ 


of  me,  that's  all.  'Tain't  wuth  makin'  a  book 
of." 

"1  think  you  resemble  some  one  I've  seen  be- 
fore," said  Edith,  with  a  puzzled  look;  "but  whom 
I  cannot  tell.  Well,  you  may  leave  me  now,  1 
wish  to  be  alone.  You  will  not  forget  to  deliver 
my  message?"    / 

"All  right,  marm;  Joe  Smith's  got  a  stunnin' 
memory.  Good  morning.  I  'spect  that  blessed 
old  angel  down  in  the  kitchen'll  give  me  fits  for 
stayin'  nere  so  long.  Don't  forget  to  keep  up 
your  spirits.  I  don't  believe  we'll  have  a  weddin' 
or  a  hangin'  so  soon  as  the  boss  thinks." 

With  this  sage  concluding  remark,  worthy  Joe 
shuffled  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Edith  to  rumi- 
nate on  the  probable  meaning  of  his  words.  . 


'<  '  ,   •  •• 


K '. 


•(  1  •' 


^'^Y^.y;./> 


cin'  a  book 


CHAPTER  III. 

I'LOTTING. 

'Nightly  tears  have  dimmed  the  luster 

Of  thy  sweet  eyes,  once  so  bright ; 
And  us  when  dark  willows  cluster, 

Weeping  o'er  marble  rocks, 
O'er  thy  forehead  white, 

Droop  thy  waving  locks — 
Yet  thou  art  beautiful,  poor  girl,  * 

As  angels  in  distress — 
'Yea,  comforting  thy  soul,  dear  girl, 

With  thy  loveliness." — Tupper. 

The  day's  toil  was  over.  Nan  Crow,  after  ' 
screeching  and  grumbling  and  scolding  to  her 
heart's  content,  had  thrown  her  apron  over  her 
head  and  fallen  asleep  in  her  easy-chair  in  the 
long  kitchen.  The  men  were  loitering  idly  about, 
some  lying  on  the  grass,  where  the  shadows  fell 
long  and  dark,  rejoicing  in  the  cool  evening 
breeze  after  the  scorching  heat  of  the  day ;  some 
sat  at  the  table  playing  cards,  swearing  and  vocif- 
erating at  an  appalling  rate;  others  lounged  in 
groups  roimd  the  room,  with  bottles  and  glasses 
before  them,  relatifig  their  several  adventures,  for 
the  general  benefit  of  all. 

Mr.  Joe  Smith,  who  found  his  duties  of  maid- 
of-all-work  rather  fatiguing,  would  gladly  have 
left  the  revelers  to  themselves;  but  they,  having 


iij 


-I 


30 


Plotting. 


no  one  to  wait  on  them,  were  determined  he 
should  not  escape  so  easily.  ■•    , 

'  Unceasing  calls  for  Mrs.  Smith,  as  they  named 
him,  resounded  continually  from  one  end  of  the 
room  to  the  other,  until  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  des- 

^  peration,  he  told  them  to  go  to  grass  and  wait  on 
themselves.  A  shout  of  laughter,  and  a  unani- 
mous cry  of  ''Come  back!  Come  back!'*  reached 
him,  but  unheeding  their  sKouts,  Joe  resolutely 
made  his  escape,  and  set  off  for  a  ramble  by  him- 
self. 

Sitting  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallt.;.  tree,  he  leaned 
his  head  on  his  hand,  and  fell  into  a  fit  of  pro- 
.  found  musing.  For  upwards  of  an  hour  he  re- 
mained thus,  with  brows  knit,  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  and  lips  compressed  like  one  in  deep 
meditation.  Suddenly  a  new  light  seemed  to 
dawn  on  him,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  the 
triumphant  exclamation:  "   , 

"I  have  it!'* 

"Have  what?"  said  a  merry  voice  beside  him, 
and  turning  abruptly  round,  worthy  Joe  beheld 
our  little  friend  Elva., 

i      "Waal,  now,  I  don't  know  as  it's  any  business 

.  0*  yourn,"  said  he,  surveying  her  coolly  from 

I  head  to  foot. 

"You're  mighty  polite,"  she  said. 

!  "Waal,  yaas,  rayther;  Glory  Ann  allers  said 
so,"  said  Joe  modestly. 


itcrmined  he 


Plotting. 


31 


n  allers  said 


•'Who's  Glory  Ann?" 

"A  young  hidy  up  to  hum ;  I'm  goin*  to  be  mar- 
ried to  her  some  dav." 

"Nice  girl  1  expect?'* 

"Nice!  That  word  doesn't  begin  to  tell  about 
I  Glory  Ann  Lazybones.  I  tell  you  she's  a  reg'lar 
screamer,  and  no  mistake." 

"Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Elva.  '*Is  she  as 
good-looking  as  I  am?" 

"Waal,  now,  1  don't  know.  Some  folks  might 
say  you  was  better  lookin';  but  I  don't.  You 
ain't  so  showy,  you  know.  Glory  Ann's  got  nice 
red  hair ;  and  red-haired  girls  is  allers  smart  and 
spunky." 

"They  are,  eh?  Now,  if  Fd  known  that  be- 
fore, I'd  have  dyed,  and  not  gone  whimpering 
[  through  the  world,  afraid  to  call  my  soul  my  own. 
Perhaps  it's  not  too  late  yet,  eh?  What  do  you 
think  ?'^ 

"Oh^you  don't  need  it.  You've  got  impidence 
enough.     You'll  do." 

"Oh,  really,  that's  cool.     What's  your  name?' 

"What's  yours?" 

"Elvena  Snowe — not  so  pretty  as  Glory  Ann 
Lazybones,  is  it?" 

"Not  quite;  hers  is  a  Scripter  name,  you  know. 
Yours  is  pooty,  though,  and  sounds  sort  o'  cool 
this  hot  weather." 

"Now,  what's  yours?" 


32 


Plotting. 


11   i 


"Waal,  it  might  be  Beelzebub,  or  Nebuchad 
nezzar,  or  any  other  Bible  name,  but  'tain't     I 
reckon  I  won't  tell  you;  I'd  rattier  not  have  it 
made  public." 

"Why?"  .  ^ 

''Oh,  well,  Joe  Smith  ain't  a  common  name,  so  1 
I  guess  I'll  keep  it  a  secret.     'Sides,  there's  no  | 
telliu'  but  you  may  fall  in  love  with  me;  and  I'm 
anxious  to  avoid  sich  a  c'lamity.'* 

'You're  a  case!  Aren't  you  the  boy  De 
Lisle  hired  yesterday?*' 

"Waal,  I  mought  be,  and  agin  I  moughtn't. 
Seems  to  me  you're  very  inquisitive,"  said  Joe 
suspiciously. 

"And  it  seems  to  me  you're  very  cautious. 
What  do  you  take  me  for?"  said  Elva  indig- 
nantly. ^  ,.•,■-...';•:;■  '■    ^.  .-.'. 

"Why,  you  might  be  a  good  many  things,  you 
Hiight  be  Cornwallis  or  Washington  in  disguise, 
or  you  might  be  a  spy  from  the  enemy.  There's 
never  no  tellin'." 

"You're  too  smart  to  live  long,  Joe,  dear.  How 
do  you  suppose  a  Httle  thing  like  me  could  be 
anybody  but  herself?" 

"It  does  seem  odd,"  said  Joe,  scratching  his 
head,  as  if  to  extract  some  reason  by  the  roots: 
■^'but  then  you  know,  it's  better  to  be  sure  than 
sorry.  I  like  to  be  on  my  guard,  so*s  I  won't 
leave  Glory  Ann  a  widder." 


Plottifig. 


33 


"I  honor  you  for  your  prudence,  my  son.  And 
now,  Joe,  when  I  assure  you  I'm  no  desperate 
character^neither  CornwalHs  nor  Washington 
in  petticoats — maybe  you'll  answer  me  a  few 
questions?" 

"Yaas'm,  if  they're  no  ways  improper  for  me 
to  Hsten  to." 

"You  sweet  innocent!  Do  you  think  I'd  ask 
such  a  saintly  cherub  as  you  anything  improper? 
First,  then,  there's  a  young  lady  confined  pris- 
oner in  that  old  house  over  there." 

"Waal,  no  V,  I  raally  couldn't  say."  And  Joe 
looked  innocently  unconscious  as  he  issued  this 
little  work  of  fiction. 

"Oh,  gti  out,  and  don't  tell  fibs!"  exclaimed 
Elva,  indignantly.  "There's  three  other  pris- 
oners there,  too,  isn't  there?" 

"There  might  be;  I  don't  like  to  say  for  sartin, 
for  fear  o'  tellin'  a  lie,"  replied  Joe,  shutting  one 
eye,  and  fixing  the  other  reflectively  on  a  grass- 
hopper at  his  feet.  "I'll  ask  when  I  go  back,  and 
send  you  a  letter  to  let  you  know." 

"You  abominable  wretch!  I  know  very  well 
they're  there,"  said  Elva,  losing  all  patience. 

"Well,  and  if  you  know  very  well,  where  the 
mischief's  the  use  o'  askin'  me  a  string  of  impu- 
dent questions,  and  callin'  me  names?"  exclaimed 
Joe  indignamtiy.  v     . 


34 


'Plotting. 


'li 


!'"!^;:jia 


%M^A 


^mm 


Elva  couldn't  resist  laughing  at  Joe's  look  of 
offended  dignity. 

"Yes,  you  may  larf,"  he  said  with  a  look  of 
intense  disgust.  '1  s'pose  it's  all  very  funny 
comin'  and  callin'  a  fdlar  names.  It  shows  all 
the  brought'n  up  you  had!"  And  Joe  gave  the 
innocent  grasshopper  at  his  feet  a  vicious  kick. 

'There,  now,  Joe,  don't  get  mad,  like  a  good 
boy,"  said  Elva,  patting  him  soothingly  on  the 
back;  "listen  to  me:  I'm  Miss  Fercival's  friend 
and  wish  to  see  her."  -  .      -  \.        -; 

"Well,  go  and  see  her  then,"  said  Joe  sulkily, 
*1  ain't  hinderin'  you." 

"But  I  can't,"  said  Elva,  "unless  you  help  me." 
'i\Ie!"  said  Joe,  opening  wide  his  eyes,  "how?" 
'Why,  you  must  find  the  key  of  the  side  door, 
and  let  me  in  that  way.  I  don't  want  anybody 
to  see  me.     Now,  do,  like  a  dear,  good  boy." 

"You  be  grannied!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith  los- 
ing all  patience.  "Can't  you  teli  a  fellar  who  you 
want  to  see,  and  hot  be  goin'  on  with  your  story 
hindend  foremost." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  knew,"  said  Elva.  "I 
mean  the  prisoner,  Miss  Percival." 

"Oh!  that's  her  name,  is  it?  How  was  I  to 
know,  when  nobody  never  told  me?  So  you 
.want  to  see  her,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  ye^,  yes!     Do  let  me  in,  will  you?*' 


((- 


(i^ 


Plotting. 


35 


"Why  don't  you  go  and  ask  some  of  the. 
others?" 

*'0h!  they  won't  let  me,  they're  hateful,  but 
you're  not.  Ah,  Joe,  won't  you?"  And  Elva 
looked  pleadingly  up  in  his  face. 

"Waal,  now  marm,"  said  Joe,  laying  one  finger 
reflectively  on  his  nose.  "I'd  like  to  oblige  you 
if  'twas  any  ways  possible,  but  if  I'm  found  out, 
the  boss  wouldn't  make  no  bones  o'  stringing  me 
up  like  a  red  herrin',  and  I  tell  you  what,  I  hain't 
no  ambition  to  be. elevated  in  the  world  after 
that  fashion." 

**He  won't  find  you  out;  how  can  he?"  ex- 
claimed Elva  impetuously;  "he  is  away,  the  men 
are  all  lounging  and  drinking  in  the  other  wing 
of  the  building,  old  Nan  Crow  is  asleep,  and 
there  is  no  one  plotting  mischief  or  making  love 
but  you  and  me.  There !  you  needn't  look  so,  sur- 
prised. I  know  more  about  that  old  house  and 
its  inmates  than  you  think.  So,  now,  Joe,  you 
dear,  good-natured  looking  old  soul,  let  me  in  to 
see  Miss  Percival,  and  I'll  dance  at  your  wed- 
ding." 

This  last  entreaty  had  a  due  efifect  upon  Joe, 
(who  indulged  in  sundry  low  chuckles  at  the  idea. 
(Recovering  his  composure  at  last,  he  seated  him- 
self deliberately  on  the  log,  and  crossing  one  leg 
over  the  other,  and  fixing  his  eyes  solemnly  upon 
his  cowhide  boots,  fell  into  a  profound  fit  of  mus- 


ii'r 


»■■ 


W 


i(> 


Plotting. 


ing.  iElva  stood  watching  him,  swinging  her 
ligiit  straw  hat  by  the  strings,  and  tapping  her 
httle  foot  impatiently  up  and  dov*'n,  %;  • 

'Well,  now,  Joe,  I  liope  you'll  soon  honor  me 
with  an  answer,"  she  said  at  last,  quite  out  of 
patience.  "1  declare  I  never  saw  such  a  stick 
of  a  fellow  as  you  are,  a  body  can  hardly  get  a 
word  out  of  you."  ' 

''Eh?"  said  Joe,  looking  up;  ''were  you  speakin 
to  me,  Miss  Elva?"  '    • 

"Was  I  speaking  to  you,  Miss  Elva?"  repeated 
the  young  lady,  mimicking  his  tone.  ''Yes,  I 
was  speaking  to  you,  Miss  Elva.  Did  you  ever 
hear  it  was  impolite  not  to  answer  a  lady  when 
she  speaks  to  you?"     '      •  ^    • 

*'Waal,  if  I  don't  talk  much,  I  keeps  up  a  mighty 
big  thinking,"  said  Joe,  "and  as  to  answerin' 
ladies,  why,  as  I  never  met  one  yet,  I  couldn't 
hev'  bin  very  imper'ite  to  'em."      ,    .-, 

"Why,  you  horrid,  impudent  fellovv',  what  do 
you  call  me  but  a  lady?"  '-    '      •      ' 

"Oh,  my  eyes!"  ejaculated  Joe,  with  a  look  of 
infinite  contempt.  "You  a  lady.  You  hain't  no 
more  the  look  of  one  than  I  hev.  Lady,  indeed! 
lYou  git  out!" 

'      ''Well,  we  won't  argue  the  question  now,"  said 
'Elva.     "Perhaps  we've  hardly  time  at  present  to 
do  the  subject  justice.     And  now,  once  for  all, 
j  avill  you  gt-ant  my  request  ?" 


'^ 


Plotting. 


37 


swinoring  her 
id  tapping  her 

oon  honor  nie 
.  quite  out  of 
such  a  stick 
hardly  get  a 

e  you  speakiii' 

^a  'r  repeated 

'He.     ^'Yes,   I 

i^id  you  ever 

a  lady  when 

3  up  a  mighty 
to  answerin' 
't,  I  couldn't 

>vv,  what  do 

th  a  look  of 
^u  hain't  no 
idy,  indeed! 

now/'  said 
t  present  to 
ice  for  all. 


''Why,  I  don't  mind  if  1  do,  seein'  it's  you," 

Replied  Joe;  ''but  first  I'll  go  and  see  Miss  Perci-. 

val,  and  tell  her  you  want  to  see  her.     By  the- 

,  time  I  git  back  it'll  be  dark,  and  you  can  git  in 

without  bein' ,  seen,  and  everything  will'  go  otT 

,fimoothly."     r.  ■.,;,:,    r^    '■     , 

I    "That's  a  good  boy,"  said  Elva  approvingly. 
*'Maybe  I  won't  write  to  Glory  Ann  one  of  these, 
days,  and  tell  her  what  a. nice  fellow  she's  going 
||to  get.     Hurry  up  now,  and  I'll  wait  here  till  you 
icome  back."  - 

So  saying,  she  seated  herself  on  the  fallen  tree, 
and  watched  honest  Joe  as  he  shuffled  slowly  out 
of  sight  and  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

An  hour  passed,  and  he  had  not  made  his  ap- 
pearance. A  deep  gloom  was  settHng  around,, 
the  dark  pines  swayed  solemnly  to  and  fro  in 
the  night  l^reeze.  There  was  no  light  save  that 
of  the  radiant  stars;  no  sound  save  that  of  the 
wind  and  the  cry  of  the  katydid.  The  silence 
was  almost  painful,  as  Elva  sat  wild  with  im- 
patience. At  length,  as  she  was  about  to  despair 
of  his  coming  at  all,  a  familiar  voice  at  her  ear 
startled  her  with  the  expressive  words: 

"Here  we  is!"     •  ;       .    . 

''Oh,  Joe,  is  it  you?  I  thought  you  would 
never  come.  Well,  can  I  see  her?"  she  exclaimed 
breathlessly. 

•■Yes'm,:  I've  'ranged  everything  beautifully. 


38 


Plotting. 


m 


mk 

llili     ;l 


II 

1   IPiir 

II    ' 


v>i'l;i„  ,,, 
■■.  .'  !|'-   r 

liillil 


\  1 


ru  go  back  to  the  house,  and  you  steal  round  to 
the  side  door  you  was  speaking  of,  and  J'll  let 
you  in.     That's  the  way." 

And  each  took  a  different  path,  both  leading 
to  the  old  house.  ,      :  v 

The  side  door  spoken  of  had  long  been  unused, 
and  was  almost  hidden  by  vines  and  shrubs. 
Forcing  her  way  through  these,  Elva  waited  until 
she  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  rusty  lock.  Push- 
ing open  the  door,  she  entered  a  long,  dark  hall, 
where  she  beheld  Joe  standing,  lamp  in  hand. 

*'Here  take  this,"  he  said,  handing  her  the 
light.  ^1  s'pose  you  know  the  way  up  to  the 
room  better'n  I  can  show  you.  Til  be  aboi.t  here 
and  wait,  and  let  you  out.'' 

"You're  a  darling!"  exclaimed  Elva,  as  she  al- 
most flew  up  a  winding  staircase.  *'How  I  wish 
I  was  Glory  Ann  Lazybones  to  get  such  a  prize 
as  you."  And  with  a  merry  laugh  she  vanished 
amid  the  gloom,  while  Joe  gazed  after  her  with 
a  look  of  decided  admiration. 

Reaching  the  well-known  chamber  of  the  pris- 
01  jr,  she  tapped  at  the  door.  A  low  voice  bade 
her  enter,  and  withdrawing  the  bolts  she  passed 
into  the  room. 

Edith  sat  by  the  table,  her  head  leaning  on  her 
hand.  She  looked  up  as  Elva  entered,  and  ap- 
proached with  extended  hands. 

Elva   was   shocked  beyond   measure  by   the 


Plotting. 


39 


steal  round  to 
of,  and  Til  let 

both  leading 

r  been  unused, 
and  shrubs, 
a  waited  until 
lock.     Push- 
ng,  dark  hall, 
P  in  hand, 
ding  her  the 
ly  up  to  the 
t>e  about  here 

^a,  as  she  al- 
'How  I  wish 
such  a  prize 
she  vanished 
ter  her  with 

of  the  pris- 

''  voice  bade 

she  passed 

ning  on  her 
'd,  and  ap- 

re  by  the 


^^HySf 


■i", 
-if 


■•:;** 

# 


change  those  few  days  had  made.  The  face  of 
Edith,  always  fair,  seemed  now  perfectly  trans- 
parent, the  deep-blue  eyes  had  grown  dim  and 
heavy  with  constant  weeping.  A  long  illness  could 
hardly  have  changed  her  more  than  those  miser- 
able days  and  sleepless  nights,  albeit  she  was  not 
used  to  ''tears  by  night  instead  of  slumber." 

''My  dear  Elva,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you 
again !"  she  said,  pressing  the  young  girl's  hands 
in  her  own. 

"The  pleasure  is  mutual,  my  dear  Miss  Perci- 
val.  But  how  pale  and  thin  you  are  looking. 
Have  you  been  sick?" 

"No,  not  exactly  sick;  but  I  have  been  sick  in 
body  and  mind.  Oh,  Elva !  how  could  I  be  other- 
wise in  this  dreadful  place?" 

"Very  true,"  said  Elva  sadly,  "and  your 
friends,  are  they  still  here,  or  has  De  Lisle '* 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Edith  hurriedly,  "not 

yet.     But  when  he  returns Oh,  Elva,  Elva  \ 

pray  Heaven  I  may  die  before  that  dreadful 
time." 

"Not  so,  Miss  Percival.  You  shall  live  and  be 
happy  In  spite  of  all  the  De  Lisles  that  ever 
cheated  the  hangman,"  exclaimed  Elva.  "We'll 
see  if  woman's  wit  is  not  more  than  a  match  for 
man's  cunning.  De  Lisle  will  not  return,  father 
says,  until  the  day  after  to-morrow;  and  when 
he  does  come  back  and  finds  his  bird  has  flown 


40 


Plot  ting. 


away  from  her  cage  during  his  absence,  won't 
th^re  be  a  scent  ?  Whew  !  It  will  be  as  good  as 
a  piay  to  see  him."  And  Elva  clapped  her  hands 
in  delight. 

"Elva!  What  do  you  mean?  I  do  not  under- 
stand," said  Edith,  looking  bewildered.      • 

"Why,  you  shall  make  your  escape  to-morrow 
night,  that's  the  talk.  When  everybody  is  sleep- 
ing, I'll  come  here,  fasten  a  rope  ladder  to  your 
window — climb  up — iron  grating's  old — easily 
taken  off — you'll  get  down — make  a  moonlight 
flitting — and  before  morning  dawns  you'll  be 
over  the  hills  and  far  away!"  » 

Edith  caught  her  breath  at  the  vision  thus  con- 
jured up.  But  a  moment's  reflection  banished 
the  bright  hopes  Elva's  words  had  recalled  to  her 
heart. 

"My  cousin,  my  brother,  and — their  friend, 
how  can  I  go  and  leave  them  here  in  the  power 
of  De  Lisle?  Oh,  Elva,  I  cannot  go." 
,  "Bother !"  exclaimed  Elva  impatiently.  "What 
good  can  your  staying  here  do  them?  Will  it 
help  them  any  you  marrying  De  Lisle,  as  you  will 
most  assuredly  have  to  do,  if  you  wait  until  he 
comes  back?  If  they  really  care  for  you,  will  it 
not  render  them  far  more  miserable  than  any- 
thing they  may  have  themselves  to  sufl'er? 
Whereas,  if  you  escape,  you  may  yet  rescue 
them;  or  if  you  cannot,  you  can  at  least  let  every 


^  absence,  vvon'i 
^lii  be  as  good  as 
dipped  her  handsi 

J  ^o  not  under- 
idered. 

cape  to-niorrow 
I'ybody  is  sleep- 
Jadder  to  your 
g-'s  old—easily 
^e  a  moonlight  1 
'^ns  you'JJ   be - 

Vision  thus  con- 
ation banished 
recalled  to  h 


PlotiUnj. 


4i. 


er 


-their  friend, 
J"  the  power 

^ntly.   -vVhat 
^m?     Will  \t 
^^  as  you  will 
vait  until  he 
^  you,  will  it 
^  than  any- 

^^    suffer? 

y^t   rescue 
1st  hi  tv^ry 


me  know  what  a  villain  he  is,  and  have  the  com- 
fort of  letting  the  world  see  him  dance  on  noth- 
!  Stay  here,  indeed!  Nonsense,  Miss  Per- 
fival!  I  beg  your  pardon  for  saying  30,  Ijut  the 
lea  is  perfectly  absurd." 

Edith's  mood  always  caught  its  tone  and  im- 

)eius   from   whoever   chanced   to   be   with   her. 

low  some  of  the  daring  spirit  that  glowed  on  the 

; cheeks  and  flashed  in  the  eyes  of  Elva  animated 

pher  own  heart,  as  she  raised  her  head  atid  said 

hnnly :    .•       ,_      , 

"Be  it  so  then,  kindest,  best  of  friends.  I  shall 
make  the  attempt ;  if  1  succeed,  I  shall  at  least 
be  spared  the  wretched  doom  of  becoming  the 
wife  of  one  I  detest;  if  I  fail,  my  fate  can  be  no 
worse  than  it  is  now." 

"Fail!"  echoed  Elva  cheerily.  "In  my  vocab- 
ulary there  is  no  such  word  as  fail.  No,  you  will 
live  and  laugh  at  De  Lisle  yet." 

"That's  the  chat!"  exclaimed  a  voice  that  made 
them  both  start;  and  turning  round  in  alarm, 
they  beheld  the  shock  head  of  Master  Joe  pro- 
truded through  the  half -open  door. 


i 


iiiiiiir'" 


'■Si 

I 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE   ESCAPE. 


"The  lovely  stranger  stands  confessed 
A  maid  in  all  her  charms." — Goldsmith. 


^That's  the  chat!"  again  repeated  the  worthy 
youth,  as,  seeing  he  was  discovered,  he  walked  in 
and  coolly  took  a  seat. 

*'0h,  Joe!  my  dear  Joe!  you  will  not  betray 
us?"  exclaimed  Elva,  while  Edith  sat  in  silent 
dismay. 

''Don't  know  'bout  that,"  replied  Joe.  "  Tain't 
fair  to  be  cheatin'  the  boss  in  this  fashion.  La ! 
how  nicely  I  caught  you  that  time !"  and  evidently 
highly  delighted  at  the  recollection,  he  leaned 
back  and  laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

''Joe,  you  won't  tell,  will  you?"  pleaded  Elva. 
"How  would  you  like  now  if  Glory  Ann  was  a 
prisoner  and  wanted  to  escape,  and  somebody  hin- 
dered her  ?  Just  think  what  a  heartrending  case 
that  would  be,  and  let  us  off." 

"Waal,  now,  I  don't  know's  I'd  care.  I's  get- 
tin'  sorter  tired  of  Glory  Ann,"  said  Joe  coolly. 

"Unfaithful  youth !"  exclaimed  Elva,  in  a  voice 
of  horror.  "Poor,  deserted  Glory  Ann.  But 
since  that  fails  to  move  you.  Miss  Percival's 
father  is  very  rich,  and  if  you  help  her  to  escape 
vour  fortune  is  made." 


The  Escape. 


43 


ssed 

-DSMlTa. 

the  worthy 
he  walked  in 

^  not  betray 
sat  in  silent 


i(   V 


pe.    **Tain't 
^shion.     La ! 
nd  evidently 
•   he  leaned 
in  his  eyes, 
-aded  Elva. 
Ann  was  a 
lebodyhin- 
■nding  ca.^e 

■•  Ts  get- 
foe  coolly. 
in  a  voice 
^nn.  Ih^t 
Percival's 
to  escape 


*'Go   to   grass!"    indignantly    exclaimed    Mr. 
Smith.     **What   d'ye    s'pose   I    care   'bout   his- 
money?     No'm;  if  you  hain't  somethin'  better  to 
propose  than  that,  I'll  blab  !'* 

"What  can  I  offer?"  said  poor  Elva  in  despair. 
''Just  mention  something  yourself  Joe,  and  if  it's 
in  my  power  you  shall  have  it." 

'There's  one  thing,"  said  Joe  meditatively. 

''Name  it,  name  it!"  exclaimed  Elva  impa- 
tiently. 

"It's  very  easy,  too,  though  I  never  thought  of 
it  afore,"  v/ent  on  Joe,  in  the  same  slow,  thought- 
ful tone. 

"Name  it,  name  it!"  exclaimed  the  impatient 
Elva. 

"Yes.  I  don't  care  'bout  Glory  Ann,  there's 
no  mistake  in  that.  Red  hair's  common,  and  I 
guess  I'll  take  to  some  other  color,"  continued 
Joe  seriously,  without  lifting  his  eyes  off  the  floor. 

"Oh,  you  wretch?  You  provoking  creature f 
You  stupid  old  thing  you!  Will  you  tell  me 
what  it  is?"  and  Elva,  losing  all  patience,  shook 
him  so  soundly  that  poor  Joe  looked  up  quite 
astonished.  . 

"Hey?  What's  the  matter?  Oh,  you  want  to 
know  what  it  is,  do  you?  Waal,  ye  see,  I'v  got 
kinder  tired  o'  Glory  Ann,  as  I  sed,  and  I'd  like 
a  change;  so  I'll  help  the  young  lady  to  run  off, 
if "' 


44 


The  Esiope. 


\; 


Hiiil 


"Well,  if  what?"  reiterated  that  youn^  lady. 

Joe  paused  and  looked  doubtfully  at  Klva. 

*'lf  you'll  marry  me!"  exclaimed  Joe,  like  a 
man  of  honor,  coming  to  the  point  at  'once. 

"Done!"  exclaimed  Elva;  "there's  my  hand  on 
it.  Who'll  say  after  this  that  I  haven't  had  a 
proposal?" 

And  Elva  cast  a  glance  toward  Edith  that,  in 
spite  of  herself,  brought  a  smile  to  the  face  of  the 
latter.  ■  •• 

"You're  a  trump!"  exultingly  exclaimed  Joe, 
"a  regular  stunner!  I  tell  you  what,  I'll  set 
free  them  three  coves  down  in  the  lower  regions 
if  you  like.     I  will,  by  gracious  !'* 

With  an  exclamation  of  joy,  Edith  and  Elva 
both  sprang  forward  and  caught  each  a  hand  of 
Joe,  who  looked  a  little  surprised,  not  to  say 
alarmed,  at  this  sudden  attack. 

"Joe,  dear,  you're  a  darling!"  exclaimed  Elva, 
"I'll  marry  you  a  dozen  times  over  if  you  like]"' 

"All  right!"  said  Joe;  "and  now  that  the 
courtin'  part  o'  the  business  is  over,  s'pose  we 
change  the  subject.  Let's  see:  to-morrow  night, 
'bout  twelve,  be  ready,  and  if  we  don't  fix  'em 
it'll  be  a  caution !" 

And  he  arose  to  leave. 

"But,  Joe,  won't  you  tell  us  what  you  intend 
to  do?"  said  Elva;  "just  consider  I'm  3^our 
better  half  now,  and  have  a  right  to  know."    , 


The  Escapi. 


45 


"Don't  trouble  yourself,  marm.  ril  tell  you 
afterward,"  replied  Joe;  ''and  now  1  shouldn't 
;.  be  s'prised  if  'twas  time  for  you  lo  go.  To- 
niorrer  night,  'bout  this  time,  come  round  to  the 
side  door,  and  1 11  let  you  in,  so's  to  be  t-eady  to 
start  with  us." 

Elva  laughed,  and  wh^i  a  cheerful  good  night 
turned  to  follow  him,  leaving  Edith  with  a  more 
hopeful  look  on  her  face  than  she  had  worn  for 
a  long  time. 

The  following  day  Joe  did  not  appear  until 
nearly  noon,  when  he  informed  Edith  that  he  had 
told  her  friends  of  their  plan,  and  that  they  were 
"tickled  to  death  'bout  it."  To  all  her  anxious 
inquiries  as  to  what  that  plan  was,  he  only  re- 
pHed  by  telling  her  to  "hold  on  and  she'd  sec 
arter  a  spell." 

With  the  approach  of  night  came  Elva,  who 
was  silently  admitted  by  Joe  through  the  side 
door,  and  conducted  to  Edith's  apartment. 
There  that  worthy  youth  left  them,  after  many 
charges  not  to  be  asleep  when  he  called  for  them, 
by  and  by. 

Elva  knew  that  three  men  remained  each  night 

in  the  corridor  before  the  cells  of  the  prisoners, 

.  »and  how  he  was  to  conduct  them  past  these  was 

*  a  mystery  she  could  not  solve.     Joe,  however, 

* 

'.^  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  her  questions,  and  re- 


.> 


46 


The  Escape. 


m 


iij  ! 


peating  his  command  to  be  ready  at  the  appointed 
hour,  left  chem  to  themselves. 

Passing  through  the  many  halls  and  passages 
and  staircases,  Joe  at  length  reached  the  opposite 
end  of,  the  house,  and  entered  a  spacious  sitting 
room,  where  nearly  a  dozen  men  were  seated 
round  a  long  table  in  the  middle  of  th  floor, 
singing,  shouting,  telling  3<^ories  and  vociferating 
in  the  most  approved  fashion.  At  the  head  of 
the  table  sat  Paul  Snowe,  the  father  of  Elva,  in 
blissful  ignorance  of  the  plot  his  audacious  little 
daughter  was  weaving  to  free  his  prisoners. 

'*Hi,  tliere!  Mrs.  Smith!  Where  the  deuce 
have  you  been  all  evening?"  called  a  flashy  look- 
ing- individual,  known  as  Dandy  Dan ;  "I  believe, 
in  my  soul,  the  tow-headed  scoundrel  is  forever 
making  love  to  Lady  Beauty  above  stairs." 

"Come  here,  Mrs.  Smith,  my  dear,"  said  an- 
other, "the  jug*s  empty,  and  Nan  Crow's  asleep. 
Be  off  to  the  kitchen  and  fill  it,  and  here's  your 
good  health,  ma'am." 

With  a  smothered  growl,  which  elicited  a  shout 
of  laughter,  Joe  took  the  huge  earthen  jar  which 
stood  in  the  center  of  the  table,  and  set  off  on 
the  errand.  Filling  it  from  a  large  cask  which 
stood  in  the  kitchen,  he  drew  a  bottle  from  his 
-pocket  containing  a  colorless  liquid  and  emptied 
its  contents  into  the  Jamaica  rum.  A  smile  of 
triumph  flitted  over  his  face,  which  was,  how- 


t  the  appointed 


The  Escape. 


47 


[ever,  changed  to  one  of  sulky  stupidity,  as  he 
[again  stood  before  the  revellers,  panting  under 
lis  load. 

"Good  boy,  Joe,"  said  Dandy  Dan,  helping  him 
fto  lift  the  jar  on  the  table,  "has  your  mother  any 
lore  like  you?" 

"Yes,  thar's  lots  on'  em  to  hum,  but  none  so 
[smart  as  me,"  said  Joe,  in  a  tone  ot  artless  sim- 
fplicity. 

"YouVe  a  genius,  Joe.  Pity  they  didn't  make 
a  lawyer  of  you!" 

"No,  sir,  none  o'  our  family  ever  fell  so  low 
as  that  yet,"  said  Joe,  in  a  tone  of  offended  pride ; 
"mother  was  to  l^w  once  and  I  never  wants  to 
know  no  more  'bout  it." 

"And  what  sent  the  old  lady  to  law?"  inqniied 
Paul  Snowe. 

"Waal,  'twas  'bout  our  cow.  Our  cow  and 
mother  and  two  other  cows  was  out,  and  she 
kicked  +he  minister." 

"Who  did?     Your  mother?" 

"No,  the  cow.  He  was  goin'-  'long,  and  she 
took  to  jawin'  him  'bout  somethin'  she  didn't  like 
in  his  sermon." 

"The  cow  did?" 

"No,  mother.  So  he  comes  over  to  'xplain  and 
he  leaned  agin'  her  and  taks  to  smoothin*  down 
her  back." 

"Smoothing  your  mother's  back?' 


)» 


43 


The  Escape. 


**No,  the  cow's.  But  she  wasn't  goin'  to  take 
none  o'  his  blarney,  so  she  jist  turned  up  her  nose 
and  told  him  to  go  to  pot."  -    ■ 

"The  cow  told  him  so?'*  ; 

"No,  mother!  But  he  took  to  arguin'  so  at 
last  forgetting  he  wasn't  in  the  pulpit,  he  broughc 
his  fist  down  with  an  almighty,  thump  on  her 
back."  ^  , 

"On  your  mother's  back?" 

"No,  darn  ye,  on  the  cow's!  So  havin'  a  spirit 
of  her  own  that  wouldn't  puc  up  with  sich  insults, 
she  lifts  up  her  hind  leg  and  gave  him  a  kick.", 

''Your  mother  did?"      ,  .,     ^., 

"No,  blame  you,  the  cow!  By  gracious  I 
won't  stand  to  hear  the  old  woman  insulted  this 
way !"  exclaimed  Joe  indignantly.  r 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed,  during  which 
Joe  stood  looking  savagely  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  at  last  turned  away  in  evident  disgust. 

"I  say,  Joe,  don't  leave  us,  man!"  called  Paul 
Snowe;  "tell  us  what  happened  to  your  mother 
and  the  other  cow?" 

''Find  out!"  said  Joe  shortly.  ''What's  the 
use  o'  tellin'  a  story  when  you're  too  stupid  to 
understand  it  ?  I  wouldn't  tell  you  another  word 
if  you  was  to  bust!"     And  with  this  spirited  an- 


>?w 


nouncenient 
taloons  a 
kitchen. 


the  young  gentleman  gave  his  pan- 
indignant  hitch,  and  repaired  to  the 


The  Escape^. 


49 


Another  hour  passed,  and  the  uproar  grew 
fast  and  furious.  Joe  listened  with  a  smile  and 
a  muttered  "it  will  soon  be  over,"  and  patiently 
bided  his  time. 

Gradually  the  noise  died  away.  Now  and 
then  a  heavy  sound  would  be  heard,  as  one  of 
the  drunken  revelers  fell  prostrate  on  the  floor, 
and  a  long-drawn  snore  betrayed  his  profoundly 
drunken  sleep.  Joe  went  in  softly.  Lying  un- 
der the  table,  and  in  various  directions  through 
the  room,  where  De  Lisle's  gallant  band.  Paul 
Snowe  lay  back  in  his  seat,  his  head  down  on 
his  breast,  sleeping  as  profoundly  as  the  rest. 

Joe  seized  the  jar,  considerably  lighter  now, 
and  repaired  with  in  in  the  direction  where  the 
prisoners  were  confined.  Leaning  against  the 
walls,  half  asleep,  were  the  remaining  three  who 
had  been  left  to  guard  them. 

"Who  comes?"  cried  one  of  the  sentinels,  open- 
ing his  sleepy  eyes. 

"Only  me,  Ben — Joe  Smith.  The  other  chaps 
drunk  theirselves  asleep,  and  I  brought  the  jar 
here,  thinking  you  might  like  the  rest." 

"Thanky,  Joe;  may  you  never  die  till  your  time 
comes,"  said  the  man,  as  he,  together  with  his 
companions,  gathered  around  the  jug. 

"Don't  see  any  reason  why  them  coves  upstairs 
should  have  all  the  fun  to  themselves,"  said  the 
other,  taking  a  long  draft. 


50 


The  Escape. 


■'!.!i 


ii::;,l;]:hn!l 


■m 


lliiiliii 


"That  was  my  notion  exactly,"  said  Joe. 

'Trime  that!"  said  the  third,  smacking  his  lips. 
*7oe,  you  deserve  to  be  made  an  archbishop." 

Joe  took  the  compliment  with  all  humility,  and 
looked  with  delight  at  their  eagerness  to  empty 
the  jug.  Very  soon  its  effects  became  apparent, 
for  the  three  worthy  sentinels  lay  stretched  at 
full  length,  as  sound  asleep  as  their  companions 
upstairs. 

Joe  arose  softly,  and  taking  the  keys  from  the 
belt  of  one,  opened  the  nearest  door,  and  Fred 
Stanley  stepped  forth.  He  then  noiselessly 
opened  the  other  two,  and  Nugent  Percival  and 
Gus  made  their  appearance. 

Joe  made  a  motion  for  them  to  be  silent,  and 
lifting  the  lamp,  beckoned  them  to  follow. 

"Wait  here  a  minute,"  said  Joe,  when  they  ar- 
rived before  the  useful  little  side  door,  as  he 
opened  it  and  disappeared. 

"That  small  youth  is  worth  his  weight  in  dia- 
monds," remarked  Gus,  as  Joe  disappeared. 

"He  reminds  me  strangely  of  some  one  I've 
seen  before,"  said  Percival;  "but  whom  I  can- 
not recollect." 

"Just  fancy  De-Lisle's  disappointment  when 
he  comes  back,  losing  his  prisoners  and  his  bride ! 
Eh,  Stanley?"  said  Gus. 

"What?"  said  Fred,  rousing  with  a  start  from 
a  dream  of  Edith. 


The  Escape. 


51 


"Ah!    I  fancy  I  know  where  your  thoughts 
^ere  that  time,"  said  Gus,  while  Percival  smiled 
jlightly,  but  said  nothing. 

''Here  we  are,"  said  Joe,  reappearing,  followed 
)y  Edith,  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak,  and  leaning 
m  the  arm  of  Elva. 

There  was  but  little  time  for  congratulations. 
[As  the  whole  party  passed  through  the  gate,  Joe 
[gave  Elva  a  nudge  in.  the  ribs,  saying,  in  a  very 
audible  whisper :  '••"  • 

"S'posin'  you  and  me  goes  and  gets  spliced 
right  off!     Whereas  the  use  losin*  time?" 

**Thank  you ;  I  guess  I  won*t  mind  it  just  now  I" 
said  Elva,  laughing  and  blushing,  as  she  caught 
the  dark  eye  of  yoiing  Percival  fixed  upon  her 
with  a  look  of  decided  amusement. 

"We  part  here  then,"  said  Joe,  extending  his 
hand.  "Good-by,  Elva.  Have  you  no  message 
to  send  to  Glory  Ann?" 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  he  had  suddenly  lost 
his  peculiar  nasal  twang.  Fred,  who  had  been 
watching  him  earnestly,  came  forward,  and  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  Joe's  shoulder,  said : 

Turther   disguise   is   unnecessary.     I   know 


«i 


you 


r> 


Joe  laugHed,  and  colored  slightly,  as  he  lifted 
his  cap  and  removed  his  wig,  and  in  spite  of  the 
dye  on  his  face,  they  beheld  and  recognized  the 
merry  face  and  black  eyes  of  Nell  Percival ! 


I    :>i 


CHAPTER  V.   -' 


THE   JOURNEY    HOME. 


iNflf" 


r    :.! 


ill-.    ! 


::s:: 
-  "-tt- 


"Oh,  she  is  a  shrewd  one!— as  keen  as  a  briar: 
Though  her  Hps  pout  with  love,  they  can  curl  with 
disdain ; 
And  her  eye,  now  so  soft,  can  shoot  qivering  fire. 
Ah!  she's  a  shrewd  one!"— J.  W.  H. 

"Nell,  by  all  that's  glorious!"  exclaimed  Gus, 

'Ts  it  possible !"  ejaculated  Edith,  almost  trans- 
fixed with  amazement.  •., 

*T  thought  I  had  heard  that  voice  before," 
said  Nugent,  scarcely  less  astonished. 

*Ts-she  a  girl  or  a  boy?''  said  Elva,  turning 
from  one  to  the  other,  completely  bewildered. 

''A  girl,  my  dear,  a  girl!"  said  Nell  gayly ;  *'and 
I  hope  you  won't  forget  you've  promised  to  marry 
me.  If  you  do,  why  then  I'll  call  you  out,  and 
we'll  have  pistols  before  coffee,  as  sure  as  shoot- 
ing." 

**But  Glory  Ann/'  said  Elva. 

"Ah,  yes — poor  thing!  But  we  won't  pursue 
the  harrowing  subject  just  now,  having  no  time 
to  lose,"  said  Nell  Then,  lowering  her  voice, 
she  added  hurriedly:  "Can  you  give  me  other 
garments?     I  don't  wish — that  is -" 

"Oh,  to  be  sure!"  interrupted  Elva;  "we  will 
help  .ourselves , to  horses  from  De  Lisle's  stables^ 


The  jLfurne\  Ilonnr 


53 


and  you  can  conie  home  with  me  while  the  rest 
wait  in  the  forest.     V\'e  won't  he  long." 

A  few  minutes  saw  them  on  their  way,  Nell 
and  Elva  far  ahead  of  the  rest.  . 

"We  had  better  wait  for  them  here,"  said  Per- 
cival,  suddenly  halting. 

*'Who  would  ever  think  Nell  so  clever?"  said 
Gus,  in  a  tone  of  delight. 

^'Seeing  that  cleverness  does  not  generally  run 
in  our  family,"  said  Nugent,  laughing. 

''Ton  niy  honor,  I'd  never  imagine  it.  She 
visited  me  daily,  too,  and  I  gave  her  a  decided 
blowing  up  once  or  twice,"  said  GuS; 

''She  told  me  of  that,"  said  Edith  smiling,  "and 
seemed  quite  indignant  about  it.". 

"I  say,  Edith,  who  is  that  pretty  little  dear  she 
has  gone  off  with?"  inquired  Percival. 

"Why,  it's  Elvena  Snowe,  the  daughter  of  one 
of  De  Lisle's  men,  for  whose  unfailing  kindness 
I  shall  ever  be  grateful,"  replied  Edith. 

"I  hope  we  will  not  be  kept  here  much  longer," 
said  Gus.  "Had  I  not  better  ride  forward  and 
meet  them?" 

"Meet  them — meet  Nell,  you  mean,"  said  Per- 
cival, laughing. 

"Here  they  come,"  said  Fred,  whose  quick 
ear  had  caught  the  ^ound  of  horses'  feet  in  the 
distance. 

In  a  few  moments  more  the  young  girls  rode 


<-rr 


i 


ii 


54 


lie  Journey  Home. 


up.  Nell  arrayed  in  a  neatly-fitting  riding  habit 
of  Elva's,  the  bright  face  flushed  a  little  now  that 
the  paint  wab  off,  as  they  could  see  even  in  the 
moonlight.   *  ^      .« 

**I  have  coaxed  Elva  to  come  back  and  bid  you 
all  good-by/*  said  Nell.  *' Would  you  believe  it, 
she  actually  did  not  wish  to  come  !** 

*'You  would  not  have  treated  us  that  way,  dear 
Elva,"  said  Edith,  kissing  her  fair  brow.  "How 
I  wish  you  could  come  home  with  us  altogether !" 

"Yes,  do,  Elva ;  we*ll  have  such  glorious  times ; 
you  and  I  and — Glory  Ann!"  coaxed  Nell. 

*'I  cannot,"  said  Elva,  almost  sadly;  **but  I 
hope  to  see  you  all  once  mere.  You  had  better 
hasten  now — delay  is  dangerous." 

The  adieux  were  hastily  spoken.  Waving  her 
hand  in  a  last  f arcv/ell,  Elva  turned  and  i  ode  off 
down  the  forest  path. 

There  was  silence  for  a  while,  during  which 
the  party  gained  the  high  road,  Ntll  in  advance, 
between  Gus  ano  her  brother,  and  Fred  and 
Edith  following  rapidly. 

"And  now,  Nell,  tell  us  about  this  strange  af- 
fair of  your  masquerade,"  said  Gus,, at  length. 

"Well,  it's  nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about,"  said 
Neil.  "I  suppose  I  needn't  tell  you  that  when 
you  went  off  that  day,  you  didn't  come  back  as 
we  expected.  Papa  was  away,  and  mamma  was 
making  a  great  t?me  about  it.     I  cried  to  cheer 


The  Journey  Home. 


55 


her  up,  but  'twas  all  of  no  use;  she  insisted  the 
whole  four  of  you  must  be  dead." 

"Ton  my  honor,  we  came  pretty  near  it,"  said 
Gus. 

''Well,  the  day  passed,  and  none  of  you  came. 

j  Mamma  was  in  a  dreadful  way,  to  be  sure,  and 

'  some  of  her  friends  came  to  visit  and  console  her. 

'I  knew  she  wouldn't  want  me,  with  so  many  to 

look  after  her,  so  I  asked  and  obtained  leave  of 

absence  for  a  week  or  two,  and  as  1  was  always 

fond  of  adventure,  I  determined,  like  a  second 

Don  Quixote,  to  go  off  in  search  of  you." 

''Bravo,  Nell!"  exclaimed  Percival. 

"I  knew  how  to  find  the  uld  house,  and  felt 
pretty  sure  Edith  was  there,  at  least,  though  I 
confess  I  had  my  doubts  whether  you  three  had 
not  been  sent  to  'kingdom  come.'  I  determined 
to  disguise  myself;  and,  having  colored  my  face, 
and  procured  that  horrid  tow  wig,  I  dressed  my- 
self in  a  suit  of  clothes  procured  for  the  occasion. 
Before  venturing  into  the  power  of  De  Lisle,  I 
determined  to  see  if  any  one  would  recognize 
me,  and  I  actually  chatted  for  an  hour  with 
mamma,  about  the  farm  'to  hum,'  and  'Glory 
Ann  Lazybones,'  without  being  recognized.  So 
of  cou.se  I  knew  my  d^'sgutse  was  perfect;  and 
I  came,  saw,  conquered.     That's  all!" 

*^My  Jove!  Nell,"  cried  Gus,  delightedly, 
"you're  a " 


,,-r-y 


56 


The  Journey  Home. 


4y. 


-^;4.;Hr 


*'What?"  said  Nell. 

*'A  regular  stunner!"  was  the  reply. 

**Well,  I  consider  that  anything  but  a  compli- 
ment," said  Nell;  "and  rest  assured,  Master  Gus, 
I  should  never  have  taken  the  trouble  of  going 
there  to  save  you,  but  as  it  was  just  the  same  to 
take  you  along  with  the  rest,  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  do  it.  Being  wonderfully  amiable,  I'm 
always  willing  to  oblige  people  when  it's  no  trou- 
ble to  myself!" 

Conversing  gayly  thus,  they  rode  along  until 
the  red  hue  of  coming  morn  appeared  in  the  east. 

''Fred  and  Edith  seem  to  have  quite  a  nice 
time  of  it  behind  there,"  said  Nell,  looking  back ; 
"I  expect  they're  saying  a  lot  of  pretty  things  to 
each  other."  -  r  ^ 

''Suppose  we  follow  their  example,"  said  Gus. 

"Perhaps  I  am  de  trop,"  observed  Percival, 
smiling. 

"Here  they  come !"  said  Nell ;  "wonder  if  they 
overheard  us?" 

At  this  moment  Fred  and  Edith  rode  rapidly 
up.  The  keen  dark  eyes  of  Nell  saw  in  a  moment 
that  her  sister  had  been  weeping,  and  that  Fred 
looked  unusually  flushed  and  agitated. 

Extending  his  hand  to  Nell,  he  said  briefly: 

"We  part  here,  I  believe.  Allow  me  to  bid 
you  farewell." 

^- What  I  going  to  leave  us?"  exclaimed  Gus  and 


Ihc  Journey  Home. 


57 


kepjy. 

^"t  a  compii, 
P^  Master  Gus  ^ 

fst,  t/ie  same  to  ^ 
P"§-^t  I  might 

"  ^^'s  no  trou- 

e  along  until 

'^  in  the  east. 

,^"^'te  a  nice 

iookingback; 
-tty  things  to 

.  ^  ■ '  ^  '■    ■- 

■'"  said  Giis. 
ed  Percival, 


ider  if  th 


ey 


^^e  rapidly 

'  3  nioment 

that  Fred 


I  „■  ■ 


JPercival,  while  Nell,  completely  aslonished,  si- 
?lently  retained  his  hand,  and  Edith  bent  her  head 
still  lower  to  hide  her  falling-  tears. 

"Yes,  I  must  be  at  N to-morrow,"  an- 
swered Fred.    *  ' 

"But  I  thought  you  were  coming  home  with 
us,"  said  Percival. 

"I  regret  I  cannot  do  so.  My  presence  here 
is  no  longer  required,  and  business  obliges  me  t ) 

go  to  N .     Good-by,  Miss  Ellen,"  he  added, 

with  a  smile,  *'give  my  best  wishes  to  Glory  Ann. 
Farewell,  Percival.  Gus,  when  shall  I  expect  to 
see  you 


)»> 


''Let's  see,  a  week  at  the  furthest,"  replied 
Gus. 

**Very  well!  Until  then,  au  revoir!  Adieu, 
Miss  Percival." 

Her  lips  moved,  but  her  reply  was  not  audible. 
The  next  moment  he  was  galloping  rapidly  off  in 
the  opposite  direction. 

"Now,  that's  what  I  call  real  mean  of  him/' 
said  Nell,  pouting,  ''to  go  off  and  leave  us  that 
v\  ay.  I  don't  care  if  he  was  twice  as  handsome 
as  he  is,  I  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
such  a  fiery-headed  fellow  for  any  possible  in- 
ducement." 

'Very  glad  to  hear  it,  my  dear,"  said  Gus. 

'Well  then,  you  needn't  be,  my  dear.  For, 
indeed,  Fd  no  more  have  you  than  him." 


ii^ 


c^^ 


,^.-. -*t- 


58 


The  Journey  Home. 


"Oh,  come  now,  Nell,  you  don't  mean  it!" 

"Oh,  come  now,  Gus,  1  do  mean  it!  And  I'd 
thank  you  not  to  be  so  confident  that  I'm  dying 
about  you,  for  the  future.  If  1  choose  to  amuse 
myself  flirting  with  you,  for  want  of  any  one  else, 
youVe  not  to  imagine  I  care  one  pin  for  you,  I'd 
have  you  know." 

"My  dear  Nell,  if  I  thought  you  were  serious, 
I'd  take  up  the  first  broken  ramrod  I  could  find, 
and  blow  my  brains  out." 

"My  dear  Gus,  you  can  do  as  you  please ;  only 
as  you  happen,  unfortunately,  to  have  no  brains, 
I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  blow  them  out. 
Seems  to  me,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  try  to  blow  a 
few  in,  instead  of  blowing  them  out." 

"Nell,  be  serious." 

"Gus,  I  am  serious,  awfully  serious,  as  you'll 
find  out  to  your  cost." 

"I  know  you  just  do  this  to  torment  me,  you 
little  vixen.  But  do  try  and  be  good-natured 
for  once,  Nell;  you  know  I  must  leave  you  in  a 
day  or  two,  *and  be  off  to  the  wars  again.'  " 

"Dear  knows,  I'll  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  you," 
said  Nell,  in  all  sincerity. 

Gus  looked  hurt,  so  much  so,  that  Nell  looked 
up,  and  exclaimed : 

"There,  gracious  me!  You  needn't  look  so 
sulky  about  it.  Of  course,  I'll  be  glad  when  you 
go  off,  for  all  my  other  friends  of  the  masculine 


The  Journey  Home. 


59 


persuasion  were  afraid  to  pay  me  the  slightest 
attention,  lest  they  should  be  wasting  their 
'sweetness  on  the  desert  air,'  that  is  to  say,  on 
somebody  else's  property.  And  I'll  tell  you  what 
you'll  do,  Gus,"  she  added,  as  though  struck  by 
a  sudden  thought,  "go  off  and  try  if  you  can't 
captivate  Elva  Snowe.  She's  a  nice  little  thing, 
and  almost  as  pretty  as  I." 

'I'd  rather  have  you,  Nell." 

*'0h,  I  dare  say;  but  you  see  you  can't  have 
me,  Gus.  It  is  not  everybody  in  this  vale  of  tears 
can  get  such  a  prize  as  I  am,  not  to  be  egotistical. 
Well,  dear  me !  won't  this  be  an  adventure  to  talk 
of  ?  Why,  I  don't  believe  one  of  your  wonderful 
Lady  Aramintas  in  the  romances  could  have  done 
it  better.*' 

''Nor  half  so  well,  my  dear." 

*'I  always  had  an  immense  respect  for  Joan  of 
Arc,"  went  on  Nell,  *'but  I'll  begin  to  admire  my- 
self after  I  perform  two  or  three  more  wonderful 
deeds  of  arms.  How  hot  it  is!  Poor  Edith 
droops  like  a  flower  wilted  in  the  sun." 

"I  hope  youVe  not  going  to  take  to  poetry, 
Nell ;  if  you  do " 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  Gus;  I  have  too  much  re- 
spect for  the  feelings  of  my  family  to  be  guilty 
of  such  a  thing;  but  poor  Edith  does  look  dread- 
fully used  up." 

'There  is  an  inn  not  far  from  here,"  ob- 


11-  ^f■ 
1:  ^ "' 

i,           '■*:■■ 

1  :  '■■■;(.' 


<S> 


The  Journey  Home. 


serveJ  Gus.  "I  think  we  can  procure  a  carriage 
of  some  description  there,  that  will  convey  you 
and  Edith  home.     You  must  be  tired,  too,  Nell.'' 

**Not  a  bit.  Vm  never  tired,  but  we  must  try 
to  get  one  for  Edith.     Walt,  Ell  tell  her." 

Nell  drew  up,  and  v^'aited  until  the  others  had 
reached  her,  then  in  a  few  words  she  communi- 
cated her  wishes  to  her  brother. 

"Yes,  that  will  be  best,"  said  Percival;  "Edith 
does  look  v/orn  out.  How  far  is  the  inn  from 
here,  Gus?" 

"Not  more  than  a  mile,"  replied  Gus,  "we  will 
soon  reach  it."  •?- 

A  few  minutes  br(>ught  them  to  it,  and  after 
v.aiting  for  breakfast,  they  resumed  tleir  jour- 
ney, Edith  and  Nell  comfortably  seated  in  a  light 
wagon,  v/ith  Gus  driving,  while  Nugent  j^alloped 
on  *o  announce  the  news  at  home. 

There  was  a  joyful  meeting  at  Percival  Hall 
that  night.  Nell  was  decidedly  the  lion  of  the 
evening,  and  bore  her  honors  with  edifying  in- 
difference. Major  Percival,  who  had  only  re- 
turned a  few  hours  before,  was  in  raptures,  and 
declared  she  was  "every  inch  a  Percival."  Mrs. 
Percival  gazed  upon  her  with  moistened  eyes  as 
she  thought  of  the  narrow  escape  of  her  children, 
and  the  numerous  friends  of  the  family  were 
extravagant  in  their  eulogisms  of  her  conduct. 

Edith  lay  gu  the  sofa,  utterly  prostrated  in 


/  I 


The  Journey  Home. 


6i 


riis,  "we  will 


body  and  mind,  too  wearied  for  the  exertion  of 
speaking,  and  with  her  eyes  shut  she  Hstened, 
while  her  thoughts  were  far  away.  There  was 
one  wanting  to  make  that  family  circle  complete 
I — one  whose  name  all  avoided  mentioning. 

A  few  days  restored  Edith  to  her  wonted 
[health,  again  a  solt  bloom  began  to  mantle  her 
pale  cheek,  and  her  blue  eyes  grew  bright  and 
Iradiant  once  more.  A  happy  circle  gathered  in 
[the  parlor  of  Percival  Hall  each  evening,  the 
[past  making  it  seem  more  happy  by  contrast. 

But  leaving  the  inmates  of  Percival  Hall,  we 
[must  follow  the  changing  fortunes  of  Fred  Stan* 
ley. 


62 


\ 


CHAPTER  yi. 

THE   hermit's   prediction. 

*'My  heart  is  with  my  native  land, 

My  song  is  for  her  glory; 
Her  warriors*  wreath  is  in  my  hand. 

My  lips  breathe  out  her  story. 
Her  lofty  hills  and  valleys  green 

Are  smiling  bright  before  me, 
And  like  a  rainbow-sign  is  seen 

Her  proud  flag  waving  o'er  me. 

The  little  village  of  Grassfield  was  in  an  un- 
usual state  of  excitement.  Groups  of  old  men,! 
boys,  and  women  were  scattered  in  every  direc-| 
tion,  talking  over,  with  exultation,  the  latest 
news  from  the  seat  of  war.  A  splendid  victoryl 
had  been  gained  by  the  American  troops,  thel 
news  of  which  had  just  reached  Grassfield;  and! 
now  the  matter  was  being  discussed  in  all  its] 
bearings  by  the  delighted  villagers. 

In  the  barroom  of  the  "Bottle  and  Bowl,"  thel 
one  solitary  inn  which  the  village  contained,  was! 
assembled  the  collective  wisdom  of  Grassfield] 
The  hostess,  a  pretty  little  black-eyed  woman,] 
bustled  in  and  out,  attending  to  her  guests,  oc- 
casionally stopping  to  glance  in  the  cradle  where! 
a  tiny  item  of  humanity  lay,  with  wide  open  eyesJ 
making  desperate  exertions  to  swallow  its  own| 
tiny  fists. 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


^^3 


The  unusual  sound  of  a  horse  galloping  rap- 
idly along  the  street  caused  the  whole  assembly 
to  rush  pell-mell  to  the  door.  The  horseman 
drew  up,  and  consigning  the  animal  to  the  hostler, 
passed  through  the  gaping  crowd,  and  entered 
the  barroom. 

Pretty  Mistress  Rosie,  the  hostess,  who  was 

busily  washing  glasses  behind  the  counter,  no 

sooner  beheld  him  than,  with  an  exclamation  of 

joy,  she  dropped  her  towel,  and  running  forward 

seized  him  by  both  hands,  exclaiming:  ''Why,  Mr. 

Fred,  how  do  you  do?     I'm  delighted  to  see  you! 

I  am  indeed!    Where  have  you  been  this  long 

time  ?    Fighting  with  the  rest,  I  suppose !    Well, 

well,   who'd  have   thought   it?     Sit   down,    sit 

down !    Well,  I  declare,  I  am  glad.    -Did  you  see 

I  my  Josh  lately?     No,  I  s'pose  you  didn't  though, 

I  or  he'd  mentioned  it.     He's  off,  fighting  like  the 

jrest,  he  is  indeed!     I  had  a  letter  from  him  last 

Inight;  and  he  says  he's  quite  well,  and  expects 

to  be   home   soon.     Well,   this   is   a   surprise! 

pear  me;  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you.     But  sit 

down,  la  me!  sit  down,  Mr.  Fred.    I  declare, 

I  I've  kept  you  standing  all  this  time!" 

And  having  by  this  time  talked  herself  quite 
lout  of  breath,  the  bustling  little  woman  danced 
put  a  chair,  and  nirtino^  her  apron  over  it  to  blow 
hfT  the  dust,  permitted  Fred  Stanley — for  he  it 


i^-.-as- 


-to  sit  down. 


64 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


i'V 


"And  how  are  all  my  friends,  Mrs.  Wilde," 
he  said  with  a  smile ;  "for  yourself  I  need  not  ask  J 
for  I  see  you  are  looking  as  blooming  and  hand- 
some as  ever." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  lively  Uttle  woman, 
"what  would  hinder  me?     All  your  friends  are! 
well,  too,  and  Betsey  Higgins  is  married  to  the! 
tailor — you  remember  her,  don't  you?     The  little 
milliner  that  used  to  be  in  love  with  you.     There, 
you  needn't  be  laughing  now;  if  you  had  been  in  I 
Betsey's  place,  I  guess  you  wouldn't  see  anything 
m  it  to  laugh  at.     But,  bless  me!     I  forgot  to! 
show  you  the  baby.     He's  named  after  you,  too;' 
for  everybody  says  he^s  your  born  image." 

Fred  laughed,  as  he  glanced  down  at  the  little 
fat,  red  face,  framed  in  an  enormous  cap  frill. 
Mrs.  Wilde — evidently  delighted  at  the  striking] 
resemblance  between  the  tall  form,  and  dark, 
handsome  frace  of  Fred,  and  the  little  blinking 
atom,  his  namesake — lifted  up  the  baby  and  de- 
posited him,  with  a  jerk,  into  his  arms. 

"There!"  exclaimed; Mrs.  Wilde,  folding  her 
arms  and  nodding  her  head  in  a  very  satisfied 
manner,  "if  he  ain't  your  very  picter.  It  takes 
after  you  everyway,  too,  for  it's  the  quietest, 
blessedest,  young  one— 


»» 


Here  a  loud,  shrill  yell  from  the  blessedest 
young  one  himself  interrupted  its  mamma's  eulo- 
gium.     Fred,   who  seemed  rather  afraid  of  it 


Th€  HermWs  Prediciion. 


^5 


e,  foiaing  her 


than  otherwise,  glanced  apprehendingly  at  Mrs. 
Rosie. 

"Ah,  you  aggravatin'  little  monkey,  you  are," 
said  that  lady,  snatching  it  from  Fred  with  one 
hand  and  giving  it  a  shake,  "stop  that  yellin,* 
or  ril  give' you  such  a  spankin'  as  ye  never  had  in 
all  your  born  days.  There,  lie  in  that,  then,  if 
you  vfon't,"  she  added,  dropping  it  into  the  cradle, 
and  leaving  it  to  its  own  reflections. 

Baby,  who  seemed  quite  accustomed  to  this 
kind  of  treatment,  immediately  stopped  crying, 
and  became  so  absorbed  in  contemplating  its  own 
little  fat  fists  as  to  forget  all  minor  considera- 
tions. 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Fred,  youVe  going  to  stay  all 
night?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wilde,  resuming  the  wash- 
ing of  her  tumblers. 

"I  rather  think  not,"  said  Fred  doubtfully, 
"my  horse  is  lame,  so  I  was  forced  to  come  here. 
If  I  find  he  is  well  enough  to  proceed  I  will  go 


on. 


a 


"If  not,  you'll  stay;  so  we  needn't  thank  you 
for  your  company,"  broke  in  the  little  hostess. 
"Hark!  Here's  somebody  else,  as  I  live,  I 
never  did  know  one  to  come  unexpected,  but 
another  was  sure  to  follow.  Who's  this  I  won- 
der?" 

The  wonder  was  spes;dily  solved,  for  a,  youf^ 


66 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


:la 


man  with  an  exceedingly  soldierlike  air  walked  | 
the  next  instant  into  the  barroom. 

"Ah,  is  it  possible?  Captain  Rogers,  my  dear  I 
fellow,"  said  Fred,  springing  up  and  extending! 
his  hand. 

''Stanley!  What  in  the  name  of  all  that's] 
wonderful,  drove  you  here  ?"  exclaimed  the  new- 
comer in  surprise. 

"Where  did  you  expect  I  would  be?'*  said  Fred,| 
smiling  at  his  look  of  astonishment. 

"With  your  regiment,  to  be  sure!     But  holdl 
on;  I  haven't  seen  my  old  sweetheart  Rosie,  yet. 
Ah!  Rosie,  here  you  are,  as  pretty  as  ever  I  see. 
Why  didn't  you  send  me  an  invitation  to  the! 
wedding?     Well,  never  mind,  it's  not  too  late| 
to  salute  the  bride  yet!" 

A  sound  box  on  the  ear  was  his  reward,  whilel 
Mrs.  Rosie's  cheeks  grew  most  becomingly  red. 

"What's  this?"  said  the  young  man,  who  bore| 
the  little  woman's  indignation  with  most  exem- 
plary coolness,  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  cradle — I 
*'a  baby!     La!     What  a  comical  little  concern !| 
I  say,  Rosie,  you  don't  mean  to  say — 


ft 


But  Rosie,  who  wasn't  going  to  put  up  with 
his.  impudence,  administered  another  box  on  the 
ear  with  no  very  gentle  hand  and,  seizing  bal)y,| 
immediately  decamped. 

Captain  Rogers  looked  after  her  and  Lw;;!? 

"Did  you  know,  Fred,  Rosie  and  I  ko 


CM'ii 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


like  air  walked  ■  — 


67 


be?"  said  Fred, 


r  and  lau^'l 


quite  a  spirited  flirtation  winter  before  last. 
Ton  my  honor,  I  was  quite  spooney  about  her 
one  time,  too,  but  Josh  Wilde  came  along  and  cut 
me  out/* 

*1  never  knew  you  when  you  weren't  spooney 
about  some  one,"  said  Fred. 

''Oh,  to  be  sure!  there's  nothing  like  it. 
Don't  you  know  what  the  song  says  ?" 

"I  am  in  love  with  twenty, 

I  could  adore  as  many  more; 
There's  nothing  like  a  plenty." 

"You  hardly  find  as  much  time  to  flirt  now 
as  you  used  to,  I  fancy,"  said  Fred. 

"Why  no,  not  quite;  but  when  an  opportunity 
presents  itself,  I  always  improve  it.  By  the  way, 
Fred,  they  say  old  Percival  has  two  or  three  very 
pretty  daughters.  Pshaw,  man!  Never  redden 
so;  I  intend  to  cultivate  the  old  gentleman  the 
first  chance  I  get,  for  the  sake  of  ma'amselle  Es- 
telle — Edith — what's  her  name?" 

"You  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble,  my  very 
dear  friend.     She  would  not  notice  you." 

"Don't  believe  it,"  said  Captain  Rogers,  glanc- 
ing at  the  mirror.  "Never  knew  a  female  heart 
could  resist  me  yet !  But  nous  verrons  mon  ami! 
When  have  you  seen  Ralph  de  Lisle?" 

Fred  started  at  the  name. 

"Why,  what  of  him?"  he  demanded. 


m 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


*'Oh,  nothing,  only  they  <^y  youVe  cut  him  out 
t!  re.  Serv "  hin^  ir.ij,  t.-o;  he's  an  infernal 
villain!"  fc^ 

''Have  you  seen  him  latc<^  "^"  said  Fred,  biting 
his  lips  to  repress  his  impatience. 

**Saw  him  yesterday  with  young  Bates,  out  on 
some  expedition  of  mischief.  But,  Stanley,  is  it 
really  true  that  you've  won  his  ladylove  from 
him  ?" 

"Captain  Rogers,  if  you  wish  us  to  remain 
friends,  you  will  say  no  more  on  this  subject," 
said  Fred  sternly. 

"Whew!"  with  a  prolonged  whistle.  "YouVe 
confoundedly  touchy,  Stanley.  Well,  that's  one 
proof  you're  guilty.  And  now  may  I  ask  if  I 
can  do  so  without  offending  you,  whither  are  you 
bound?" 

"To  N to  join  my  regiment. 


>» 


ti^ 


<»' 


That's  lucky!    Are  you  in  much  of  a  hurry?" 

'Why,  no;  not  particularly." 

Then  might  I  ask  you  to  grant  me  a.  favor?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear  Rogers;  anything  in  my 
power.  " 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  Rogers  eagerly. 
"These  dispatches  I  have  been  ordered  to  convey 
to  Colonel  M ;  but  an  affair  of  a  most  press- 
ing nature  requires  my  presence  in  another  direc- 
tion. Now  if  you  would  deliver  them  you  would 
render  me  an  inestimable  service." 


The  Hi  mit's  Prediction. 


69 


"With  i*i\  my  hea't.  •  ly  gtjud  fellow.  Stand 
land  deliver." 

"It's  rather  a  dangerous  business,"  said 
Rogers,  drawing  a  formidable  looking  document 
from  his  breast  pocket.  "You  will  have  to  make 
your  way  through  the   forest  to  reach  Colonel 

M 's  quarters;  and  there  are  lurking  parties 

lof  Indians  and  Tories  forever  prowling " 


"Say  no  moie  about  it,"  interrupted  Fred.  "I 
[am  too  well  accustomed  to  danger  to  fear  it;  be- 
sides, who  would  shun  danger  in  the  service  of 
|his  country?" 

"You  will  start  to-night  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  certainly;  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Here 
I  comes  our  pretty  hostess,  so  hot  a  word!" 

"Well,  Rosie,  I'll  take  a  drink  and  be  off. 
I  What  have  you  done  with  that  pocket  edition  of 
Josh  Wilde?" 

"None  of  your  business,  W^ill  Rogers,"  replied 
Rosie  saucily.  "Here,  take  this,  and  be  off;  I 
I  can't  be  bothered  with  you." 

Captain  Rogers  laughed,  drained  the  glass  she 
I  handed  to  him,  chucked  her  under  the  chin, 
shouted  a  careless  good-by  to  Fred,  sprang  on 
his  horse,  and  amid  many  an  admiring  glance 
from  the  bright  eves  of  the  village  damsels  rode 
loff. 

"I  think  I  had  better  follow  him,"  roiiiarkcd 
Fred,  turning  carelessly  from  the. window. 


m 


70 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


^« 


\ 


"You'll  wait  for  dinner,  won't  you?"  said 
Rosie.  "Come  now,  I'll  take  no  refusal.  I  have 
ever  so  many  things  to  say  to  you.  There,  I 
knew  you  would,"  she  added,  as  Fred  smiled. 
"Just  walk  into  the  parlor,  dinner'll  be  ready  in 
a  minute." 

So  saying  she  laughingly  pushed  Fred  into  the 
parlor,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  and  leaving 
him  to  amuse  himself  during  her  absence  as 
best  he  might. 

Fred  seated  himself,  and  taking  up  a  volume 
of  Goldsmith^s  works  was  soon  absorbed  in  the 
pages  of  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  when  the 
door  opened  and  Mistress  Rosie  stood  before 
him. 

"There's  a  gentleman  out  here  inquiring  for 
you,  Mr.  Fred,"  said  the  little  hostess. 

"For  me?"  said  Fred,  in  surprise.  "Who  can 
it  be?" 

"He  looks  like  some  of  those  old  robbers  in 
the  pictures,"  said  Mrs.  Wilde,  "with  a  long 
cloak  wrapped  around  him,  and  his  hat  pulled 
way  down  over  his  eyes.     Will  I  show  him  in  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Fred,  inwardly  wonder- 
ing who  the  mysterious  personage  could  be. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  figure  of  a  man 
wrapped  in  a  long,  black  cloak,  with  his  hat 
pulled  far  down  over  his  eyes,  stood  before  him. 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


71 


"To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  this 
visit?"  said  Fred,  rising. 

"To  a  friend,  young-  man;  one  who  is  no 
stranger  to  you."  He  moved  his  hat,  and  Fred 
beheld  the  white  locks  of  the  Hermit  of  the  CHffs. 

"A  friend  you  have  indeed  proved  to  me,  good 
father,"  said  Fred,  frankly  extending  his  hand. 
**Even  now  you  were  in  my  thoughts,  though  I 
hardly  expected  the  honor  of  this  visit." 

"You  will  ever  find  me  near  you  when  danger 
is  at  hand,"  said  the  hermit. 

"Danger?"  said  Fred.  "And  what  danger 
threatens  me  now?" 

"A  soldier's  life  is  always  dangerous,"  replied 
the  old  man  evasively;  ^'especially  with  so  many 
enemies  as  you  have." 

"Let  it  come  then,"  said  Fred  carelessly.  "I 
am  too  well  accustomed  to  danger  to  shrink  from 
it  now." 

"Perhaps  you  think  you  carry  a  charmed  life," 
said  the  hermit;  **and  that  because  you  have 
escaped  the  bullet  of  the  executioner,  and  the 
halter  of  De  Lisle,  you  can  rush  into  greater 
dangers,  and  come  forth  scatheless.  Young  man, 
1  say  to  you,  beware!  Last  night,  when  the 
stars  rode  in  solemn  splendor  through  the  heav- 
ens, I  read  your  fate.  All  was  dark  and  omi- 
nous. The  shadozv  of  the  scaffold  fell  redly 
across  your  path.     The  steel  of  the  assassin  is 


X 


^2 


The  Hcrmii's  Prediction. 


mi 


1 


-* 


!  im 


sharpened  for  the  heart  of  one  you  love,  and  for 
the  crime  of  another  shall  you  die.  Again  I  say 
to  you,  beware!  Be  warned  in  time,  else  you 
shall  repent  it  when  too  late  I" 

The  deep,  intense,  passionate  solemnity  with 
which  he  spoke  awed  involuntarily  the  fearless 
heart  of  Fred.  A  sensation  of  fear,  not  for 
himself,  but  for  one  dearer  than  all  the  world 
beside,  crept  over  him. 

*'01d  man!"  he  exclaimed,  seizing  him  by  the 
■wrist  with  a  viselike  grip,  ''who  is  this  for 
whom  the  steel  of  the  assassin  is  prepared? 
Speak,  and  tell  me,  for  I  must  know.'* 

"That  I  saw  not,"  replied  the  hermit  calmly. 
"Can  the  lips  of  man  reveal  what  the  stars  speak 
not?  Guard  against  the  danger  which  hangs 
over  yourself,  and  trust  the  rest  to  a  higher 
power." 

"Psha!  I  might  have  known  'twas  but  silly 
raving,"  said  Fred,  shaking  off  the  superstitious 
feeling  that  had  for  a  moment  overcome  him. 
'Tf  you  have  nothing  more  definite  than  this  to 
warn  me  against,  good  father,  I  fear  your  words 
.have  been  in  vain." 

"And  you'll  not  be  warned?"  said  the  old  man 
sadly.  *Tt  is  only  when  the  danger  is  at  hand 
you  will  believe  me?  Did  I  not  warn  you  be- 
fore, and  did  not  my  words  prove  true?  Have 
you  forgotten  your  powerful  enemy,  Dc  Lisle?" 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


73 


"1  am  not  likely  to  iorgct  him;  but  1  fear  him 
not,"  said  Fred  scorniully. 

"So  you  said  before,"  said  the  hermit  calmly; 
'and  yet  you  fell  in  his  power,  and  would  have 
died  by  his  hand,  but  for  the  heroism  of  a  young 
girl.  The  same  thing  may  happen  again,  when 
there  will  be  no  one  at  hand  to  aid  you." 

''Forewarned  is  forearmed,"  said  Fred. 
''Ralph  de  Lisle  will  find  it:  not  so  easy  to  get  me 
once  more  within  his  clutches;  and  should  we 
ever  meet  in  open  warfare,  then,  good  father, 
you  will  find  it  your  duty  to  bid  him  beware  in- 
stead of  me!"  • 

"Rash  youth!  You  cannot  I'ead  the  book  of 
fate  as  I  can,"  said  the  hermit  sorrowfully. 
''Again  I  tell  you,  danger  is  at  hand — nay,  hangs 
over  your  head,  and  over  one  for  whom  you 
would  give  your  life.  Tn  the  hour  of  doom  you 
cannot  say  there  was  n.  one  to  warn  you  of  your 
danger." 

The  tone  of  profound  melancholy  in  which  the 
last  words  were  uttered  touched  Fred.  Not  that 
he  believed  w^hat  the  old  man  said,  his  words 
he  considered  the  mere  idle  raving  of  a  moon- 
struck idiot,  who  warned  him  of  danger  after 
hearing  of  his  narrow  escapes,  and  knowing  De 
Lisle  was  still  his  enemy.  But  his  evident  affec- 
tion for  him  and  interest  in  his  fate  reached  his 
heart. 


**^'i^^«/-..^  ►,■*  -t>  iJ>K  ?^.' 


ms 


;:Rilfe 


74 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


'  "Accept,  at  least,  my  thanks  for  the  interest 
you  manifest  in  me,"  said  Fred;  ''although  I  may 
never  make  use  of  your  warning,  I  feel  grateful 
to  you  for  it.  And  now^  let  me  ask  you  why 
should  you  care  so  much  for  one  who  is  a 
stranger  to  you,  and  whose  father  you  have 
spoken  of  in  the  most  opprobrious  terms?" 

A  moment  after  he  was  sorry  he  had  asked 
a  question  which  seemfed  to  act  like  a  galvanic 
shock  on  the  hermit,  whose  head  fell  heavily  on 
his  closed  hands,  while  his  whole  frame  quivered 
with  emotion. 

*'My  dear  sir,"  said  Fred,  starting  up,  "if  I 
have  said  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings,  believe 
me  it  was  quite  unintentional,  and  I  am  sincerely 
sorry  for  it." 

"Say  t\o  more,  say  no  morei"  said  th(?  hermit, 
raising  his  head,  and  startling  the  young  man 
by  the  deadly  paleness  of  his  face.  '1  am  sub- 
ject to  these  sudden  shocks,  and  do  not  mind 
them.  Some  day,  perhaps,  before  I  die,  should 
you  survive  me,  you  will  know  who  I  am.  But 
until  that  time  comes,  let  what  you  already  know 
of  me  sulilce.  You  think  me  crazed — perhaps 
I  am;  but  there  is  at  least  'method  in  my  mad- 
ness.' Believe  me  to  be  your  friend — your  best 
friend  on  earth.  You  say  you  are  a  stranger  to 
me.  Believe  it  not.  Long  before  you  saw  me, 
I  knew  you;  and  vhen  you  least  fancied  it,  I 


The  Hermit's  Prediction, 


73 


have  been  watching  over  you.  I  ask  neither  your 
love  nor  confidence  in  return.  Should  we  both 
live,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  give  both 
willingly.  And  now,  farewell!  I  have  come  to 
warn  you,  but  you  heeded  not  my  words.  In  the 
hour  of  your  darkest  trial,  when  your  summer 
friends  desert  you  in  the  winter  of  affliction,  I 
shall  be  near.  'When  danger  threatens,  look  for 
me.    Until  then,  farewell." 

He  wrapped  his  cloak  around  him,  drew  his 
hat  down  over  his  eyes,  bowed  with  dignity  and 
was  gone  ere  Fred  could  frame  an  answer. 

"Strange  being!*'  thought  the  young  man, 
throwing  himself  into  a  seat,  and  leaning  his 
head  on  his  hand.  "How  dark  and  mysterious 
are  his  words!  Can  it  be  that  that  simple  old 
man  really  reads  the  secrets  of  futurity?  Thou 
hast  hidden  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  re- 
vealed unto  babes.'  Wonderful  being!  Will 
those  ominous  predictions  come  true?  I  have 
already  seen  his  words  verified,  and  why  may 
not  those  likewise?  'The  shadow  of  the  scaffold 
falls  across  my  path.'  Well,  though  I  have 
escaped  twice,  I  begin  to  think  I  have  been  born 
for  a  halter,  after  all.  I  can  easily  account  for 
my  narrow  escape  from  shipwreck  by  the  wise 
old  proverb,  that  any  one  born  to  be  hanged  will 
never  be  drowned.  It's  a  pleasant  anticipation, 
truly." 


76 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


*'VVhy,  Mr.  Fred,  you  look  as  dismal  as  if  you 
had  lost  your  last  relation,'  said  the  merry  voice 
of  Rosie  Wilde,  breaking  in  upon  his  reverie. 
"Goodness  gracious  me !  Have  you  seen  a  ghost, 
or  are  you  thinking  of  suicide?  If  you  arc,  I've 
a  bottle  of  lodlnm  out  in  the  bar  that  will  send 
you  sleeping  comfortably  to  the  other  world  in 
less  jthan  no  time.      Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

"Egad!  I've  a  strong  notion  to  follow  her  ad- 
vice, and  cheat  Jack  Ketch,  after  all,"  muttered 
Fred. 

"Well,  dinner's  ready,  so  never  mind  talking 
to  yourself  just  now,  for  fear  I  might  overhear 
you.     So  come  along." 

Fred  laughingly  accompanied  Mrs.  Wilde  to 
the  dining  room,  where  they  sat  down  to  a  con^- 
fortable  meal,  to  which  both  did  ample  justice. 

An  hour  after,  as  Fred  stood  in  the  parlvr 
with  Mrs.  Wilde,  previous  to  startirig,  anothtr 
horseman  galloped  up  and  alighted  at  the  inn 
door. 

"I'll  have  General  Washington  himself  hero 
next,  I  expect,"  said  Mrs.  Wilde,  who  was  rock- 
ing the  cradle.  "Your  coming  brought  them  all, 
1  think;  for  I  haven't  liad  so  many  visitors  be- 
fore this  month  of  Sundavs." 

^'Landlady !"  called  a"  high,  imperious  voice, 
that  made  Fred  .^tnrt  and  flush  to  the  temples. 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


77 


jUovv  her  ad- 
p/'  muttered 

lind  talking 
M  overhear 

•s.  Wilde  to 
'n  to  a  coni- 
•le  justice. 

the  parK.r 

ttg",  another 

at  the  inn 

mself  here 
>  was  roek- 
n  them  all, 
visitors  be- 

ous   voice, 
emples. 


•'Coming,  coming!"  answered  Mrs.  Wilde,  hur- 
rying from  the  room. 

Half  an  hour  passed  by.  Fred  stood  with  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  all  his  indifference 
gone,  and  a  look  of  fierce  sternness  and  intense 
hatred  on  his  face.  Well  he  recognized  that 
voice. 

*'Gone  at  last,"  said  Mrs.  Wilde,  again  mak- 
ing her  appearance. 

Fred  looked  out,  a  young  man  passed  out  of 
the  door,  sprang  on  his  horse  and  rode  off,  but 
not  before  Fred  had  caught  a  full  view  of  his 
face. 

It  was  Ralph  de  Lisle. 

''Well,  I  regret  to  say  I  must  leave  you  now, 
Mrs.  Wilde,"  said  Fred,  turning  from  ,lhe  win- 
dow, and  striving  to  banish  the  shadow  that  had 
gathered  on  his  brow. 

''Very  sony  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Rosie,  "but 
I  hope  to  see  you  soon  again." 

"Rest  assured  of  that,  my  dear  madam,"  said 
Fred.     "I  shall  certainly  visit  my  little  namesake' 
as   soon   as   may   be.     Good-by   until   we  meet 
again." 

Raising  the  plump  little  hand  she  extended  to 
his  lips,  Fred  passed  out,  sprang  on  his  horse, 
and  vvas  soon  out  of  sight,  while  the  pretty  little 
hostess  of  the  "Bottle  and  Bowl"  stood  in  the 
doorway,  watching  him  until  he  disappeared. 


w^^^ 


78 


The  Hermit's  Prediction. 


Night  found  him  making  his  way  slowly  and 
with  difficulty  along  the  slippery  forest  path  in 
the  direction  pointed  out  by  his  friend,  Captain 
Rogers.  It  was  a  gloomy,  disagreeable  night. 
A  drizzling  rain  was  falling,  a  cold  wind  was 
sighing  drearily  through  the  trees.  There  was 
no  light,  save  the  faint  glow  of  the  spectral  moon, 
as  she  lifted  her  wan  face  over  the  bleak  tree 
tops,  through  the  dark  clouds  that  scudded  across 
the  sky. 

Urging  his  horse  with  rein  and  spur,  Fred 
bent  his  head  to  the  storm,  and  proceeded  slowly 
onward.  There  was  a  strange  presentiment  of 
evil  hanging  over  him,  an  oppression  of  spirits 
he  had  never  felt  before.  It  might  have  been 
caused  by  the  words  of  the  hermit,  his  chance 
glimpse  of  De  Lisle,  which  he  felt  half  inclined 
to  consider  an  omen  of  evil,  or  it  might  have  been 
caused  by  the  dismal  night  and  the  lonely  patn 
he  was  pursuing.  He  strove  to  shake  off  these 
superstitious  fancies,  knowing  there  might  be 
more  tanj/.ble  evils  at  hand,  for  there  were  al- 
ways lurking  bodi*^:.'  of  Indians  prowling  about 
in  the  words.  Now  and  then  the  cry  of  some 
wild  an'ni  ii  ^^  oviki  break  upon  his  ear,  making 
his  horse  .u^  t  arni  snort  vith  terror,  but  no 
enemy  had  i*i^^l.:'>;''d  Ivm,  and  ere  morning  he 
trusted  to  be  fir  ironi  danger. 

Suddenly  an  abrupt  turn  in  the  road  broughl 


'ly  and 
>ath  in 
'aptain 

was 

[re  was 

moon, 

ik  tree 

across 

[»  Fred 

slowly 

ent  of 

spirits 
fe  been 
chance 
iclined 
e  been 
''  patn 

these 
ht  be 
re  al^ 
about 
some 
iking 
t  no 
r  he 


The  Hermit's  Prediction, 


79 


him  in  view  of  a  scene  that  made  him  draw  back 
in  alarm. 

In  the  center  of  a  large  semicircle,  evidently 
the  work  of  Nature,  a  large  fire  was  burning. 
Gathered  around  it  were*  some  twenty  half- 
naked  painted  savages,  who,  with  a  large  keg, 
which  Fred  well  knew  contained  rum,  were  evi- 
dently bent  upon  making  a  night  of  it,  in  spite 
of  the  inclemency  of  the  weather. 

To  escape  without  being  discovered  was  now 
Fred's  idea.  He  turned  noiselessly  to  proceed 
in  another  direction,  but  his  horse  reared  at  the 
sudden  blaze  of  light,  and  gave  a  loud  neigh  of 
fear. 

It  reached  the  keen  ears  of  the  Indians. 
Snatching  up  their  weapons,  they  sprang  to  their 
feet,  while  a  series  of  diabolical  yells  rent  the  air, 
followed  by  an  ominous  silence. 


ighl 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  STAKE. 

"Through  the  leafy  halls  of  the  wilcf  old  wood, 

Rang  an  echo  full  and  free. 
To  the  bavage  shout  of  a  tearful  band. 
As  they  bound  the  white  *nan  foot  and  hand 

To  the  sacriftciai  tree." 

— H.  Marion  Stephens.. 

Escape  was  now  out  of  the  question.  Re- 
solveH  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  possible,  Fred 
drew  his  pistols,  and  two  of  the  foremost  sav- 
ages, with  wild  howls,  bi'  the  g^round.  Mad- 
dened by  the  sight,  the  remainder  sprang  fiercely 
upon  him,  and  in  spite  of  his  desperate  resist- 
atli:e,  he  was  overpowered  by  numbers  and  se- 
curely bound.  They  next  turned  theit^  attention 
to  their  fallen  companions.  One  of  them  was 
only  wounded,  but  the  other  was  quite  dead.  A 
long,  low  wail  was  heard,  as  he  who  appeared 
to  be  their  chief  touched  the  fresh  scalp  lock  which 
dangled  at  his  belt. 

The  savages  now  gathered  In  a  cluster,  and 
appeared  to  hold  a  consultation,  while  Fred, 
bound  to  a  tree,  inwardly  wondered  what  Dame 
Fortune  had  in  store  for  him  next.  In  the  red 
light  of  the  fire,  the  scene  resembled  one  of  vScil- 
vator  Rosa's  wild  paintings.     The  dark,  gloomy 


The  Stake. 


8i 


,„rest  in  the  ^^^^-^^^J;''^t.  1^^. 
,i„d  sighed  a  d-|e^'^;^^^^^^^^^        bodies  of  his 

'"'?  ^^"''led^elKedy  for  the  result  of  this  con- 
Fred  waited  eageny  ^^^ 

f  erence.    Now  and  *^"  "^p^ke  in  their 
fierce  exclamation,  ^f  J^^  ^^^Jrstood  not  a 

own  language,  he,  of  ^^Tc'at     a  look  directed 
^ord.     Often,  too  he  would  ca^l^a  ,^^.,, 

to  himself  that  boded  ^^1^^"^^,,,^,^^;  for, 
seemed  to  have  arnved  at  some  c    ^^^^  ^^^^^^ 

;£S^rt^SS  savage,  upon  him 

-ssw^--tir-t: 

He  seemed  to  h^^j^Lserwherever  the  fickle 
hands  of  Fate,  to^y-^teTof  the  Indians  he 
goddess  willed.  I"  !""  ^  ^  ^^d  bloody,  must 
well  knew  that  deaji,  speeay  ^^^^^ 

be  his  doom.    Death  and  he  had  ^    ^^^ 
face  to  face  for  h.m  to  shnnk  f ro  ^^  ^^^^ 

die  thus,  afar  from  a«  ^^^^^  ^^^^.^st  heart, 
for  him,  might  have  f'^f '^  ^.ting  for  his 

To  die  on  the  fi«l\°^„X  '  Jut  such  a  death 
country,  would  have  been  glory  >^^^        ^^  ^^ 

as  he  well  knew  --  "^  ^"g.f  ,f  Edith,  freed 
indeed  appalling.     He  t^    g  ^.^^^  tiappy  at 

from  the  power  of  her  moii      ^ 


82 


The  Stake. 


^:- 


home,  and  wondered  if  she  would  ever  hear  of 
his  fate.  He  thought  of  the  mysterious  hermit, 
and  of  h:"''  dark  prediction  of  coming  danger  so 
soon  fulfilled. 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  where  sat  his  captors. 
Some  of  them,  overpowered  by  the  effects  of  the 
Tire  water,  were  stretched  on  the  ground  asleep, 
looking  like  dark  statues  in  their  rigid  repose 
i  lie  others  still  sat  drinking,  some  whooping  an< 
yelling  fearfully  in  their  intoxication,  the  rest 
silently  staring  at  them,  evidently  more  than  half 
stupefied. 

Fred's  positior  was  painful  in  the  extreme. 
The  ligatures  which  bound  his  wrists  behind  him 
were  tied  so  tightly  that  they  seemed  cutting  their 
way  into  the  flesh.  His  position  was  painfully 
constrained,  his  head  being  the  only  portion  of 
his  body  he  could  move. 

To  add  to  his  sufferings,  the  storm,  which  had 
for  several  hours  been  threatening,  now  burst 
in  all  its  fury.  A  blaze  of  lightning,  so  vivid 
that  it  seemed  as  though  the  heavens  were  one 
vast  sheet  of  flame,  followed  by  a  terrific  crash 
of  thunder  and  flood  of  rain,  and  the  storm  was 
upon  them  in  full  fury.  Roused  from  their  slum- 
bers, the  stunned  and  half -dm  ken  savages  gath- 
ered together  in  evident  g  lay.  The  win(^ 
howled  a  perfect  l«>r'iado,  nc  lightning  stil 
flashed  in  one  continu..   glare,  the  thunder  pealed 


The  Stake. 


83 


as  though  the  heavens  wef e  rending  asunder,  and 
the  rain  fell  in  torrents.  A  tall  tree,  scarcely 
three  yards  from  where  Fred  stood,  was  shivered 
to  atoms  by  a  blinding  flash,  and  another  waf. 
torn  violently  up  by  the  roots  and  hurled  almoiit 
at  his  feet. 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  storm  continued  in 
all  its  fury.  Then  the  sullen  clouds  began  slowly 
to  break  away,  the  lightning  still  flashed,  but  at 
rare  i^atervals;  the  thunder  growled  far  off  in 
the  distance,  the  wind  abated  its  fury,  and  though 
the  rain  still  fell,  it  was  no  longer  in  drenching 
torrents.  The  savages  recovering  from  the  ef- 
fects of  their  first  alarm,  and  still  stupid  with 
liquor,  again  stretched  themselves  on  the  wet 
ground,  and  soon  lay  motionless,  like  hideous  fig- 
ures in  wax. 

Fred,  wet,  cold,  and  benumbed,  stood  waiting 
the  approach  of  day.  His  arms  felt  as  though 
they  were  dead,  having  swollen  from  being  so 
tightly  bound.  As  he  thought  of  the  fearful 
fate  for  which  he  was  most  probably  reserved, 
)ie  had  more  than  once  during  the  raging  of  the 
storm  wished  that  some  friendly  flash  of  light- 
ning had  freed  his  spirit  and  borne  him  from 
their  power. 

The  hours  of  that  dreary  night  wore  on,  but 
Fred  thought  it  the  longest  he  had  ever  known. 
The  gray  light  of  morning  at  last  stole  over  the 


/^ 


The  Stake. 


tree  tops,  coming  slowly  and  unwillingly,  as 
though  reluctant  to  behold  the  disasters  of  the 
preceding  night.  Fred  recollected  that  at  that 
time,  twenty-four  hours  before,  he  had  bade 
adieu  to  Edith,  and  something  akin  to  despair 
filled  his  heart  as  the  certainty  that  he  should 
never  see  her  again  stole  over  him. 

His  captors  had  by  this  time  arisen,  and  were 
now  busily  engaged  in  making  their  morning 
meal.  This  over,  some  of  them  went  in  search 
of  their  horses  where  they  had  left  them  the  pre- 
ceding night,  while  two  others  approached  the 
prisoner,  and  having  unfastened  the  thongs 
which  bound  him,  placed  before  him  a  sort  of 
hard,  coarse  cake  made  of  Indian  corn,  a  gourd 
filled  with  water,  and  made  signs  for  him  to  eat. 

It  Avas  some  time  before  he  could  comply,  for 
his  hands  were  stiff  and  benumjjed,  and  the  food 
none  of  the  most  palatable.  Knowing,  however, 
that  Nature  must  be  sustained,  he  essayed  to  eat; 
and  bv  the  time  he  had  finished  his  meal  the 
rest  returned  witli  the  horses. 

Fred  was  permitted  to  mount  his  own  horse; 
and  with  one  of  his  captors  on  each  side  of  him 
they  dashed  off  at  a  rapid  gallop. 

They  rode  on  for  several  hours,  avoiding  with 
the  utmost  care  all  white  settlements,  and  a  little 
before  noon  they  halted  at  a  running  stream  to 
rest  their  wearied  animals.     Fred  alighted,  and 


,^'»' 


Tke  Stake. 


H 


►  of  the 

at  that 

id   bade 

despair 

should 

id  were 

lorning 
search 

he  pre- 

led  the 

thongs 

5ort  of 
gourd , 

to  eat.  ) 

ly,  for 

e  food 

vever, 

o  eat; 

il  the 

orse  ; 
"  him 

with 
little 
n  to 
and 


was  bound  as  l>e£ore  to  prevent  his  escaping, 
while  his  captors  once  more  regaled  theuiselves. 
with  their  coarse  food. 

All  traces  of  the  previous  night's  stonu  had 
now  vanished.  The  sun  shone  in  unclouded 
splendor,  and  at  any  other  time  Fred  would  have 
admired  the  beautiful  scene  around  him,  but  now 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  captors. 

They  were  a  savage,  bloodthirsty  looking  set, 
hideously  painted  and  frightfully  ugly,  looking 
fiercer  and  more  barbarous  in  the  clear  light  o£ 
day  than  when  he  had  seen  them  first.  They 
ate  in  solemn  silence,  and  having  finished  again 
mounted  and  rode  off,  seldom  speaking  save  when 
he  who  appeared  to  be  their  chief  addressed  to 
them  a  few  brief  words,  evidently  concerning 
their  joui''ney. 

Toward  evening  the  party  halted,  and  made 
preparations  for  the  night.  Fred  was  again, 
l)ound,  l)ut  in  such  a  manner  as  would  permit 
him  to  lie  down.  The  savages  then  proceeded  ; 
to  kindle  a  fire ;  and  seating  themselves  around  it, 
after  partaking  of  their  evening  meal,  of  which 
Fred  received  a  share,  they  stretched  themselves 
on  the  damp  earth  and  were  soon  buried  in  sleep, 
with  the  exception  of  one  who  remained  to  keep 
guard.  »       . 

It  was  a  lovely  night.  The  moon  rode  in  ra- 
diant l>rightness  through  the  blue  arch  of  heaven. 


^>. 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


86 


Th'e  Stake. 


One  by  one  the  solemn  stars  came  out,  looking 
with  their  pitying  eyes  on  the  pale  face  of  the 
captive.  The  cool  south  wind  lifted  his  long, 
dark  locks  off  his  noble  brow.  The  air  was  re- 
dolent with  the  odor  of  flowers,  and  with  a  sing- 
song sound  in  his  ears.  Fred  fell  asleep. 

And  sleeping,  he  dreamed.  Once  again  in 
fancy  he  stood  by  the  side  of  Edith,  whispering 
in  her  ear  ''the  tale  which  ladies  love  to  hear." 
Suddenly  a  shadow  fell  across  the  path.  Edith 
was  torn  from  his  side,  and  with  the  rapidity 
of  thought  he  found  himself  swinging  by  the 
neck  from  a  halter.  A  shriek  of  mortal  agony 
reached  his  ears,  and  looking  down  he  beheld 
Edith  struggling  in  the  arms  of  De  Lisle,  now 
transformed  into  a  painted  savage.  With  a 
start  he  awoke,  to  find  his  dream  in  part  realized. 

The  red  hue  of  coming  morn  was  already  crim- 
soning the  sky.  His  captors  were  up  and  gath- 
ered together  in  a  circle,  as  if  holding  a  consulta- 
tion. Among  them,  Fred  beheld  the  fierce  faces 
of  three  or  four  of  De  Lisle's  Tory  band;  and 
standing  above  him,  with  his  arms  folded  across 
his  breast,  and  a  look  of  fiendish  triumph  on  his 
face,  Ralph  de  Lisle  himself. 

^'So,"  said  De  Lisle,  slowly  hissing  the  words 
through  his  closed  teeth,  "so,  Fred  Stanley,  we 
have  met  again." 

''So  it  seems,"  replied  Fred,  calmlx-. 


The  Stake. 


87 


[king 

the 
long, 

re- 
5ing- 


in 

inng 


''You  see,  sir,  you  are  in  the  hands  of  Fate, 
and  that  you  cannot  escape  me.  No  doubt  you 
fancied,  when  you  so  cleverly  freed  yourself  from 
my  power,  that  you  were  safe.  Now  you  are 
convinced  of  your  mistake.  Since  our  last  meet- 
ing, I  have  daily  prayed  I  might  soon  hold  you 
in  my  clutches  once  more,  and  now  my  prayer 
is  granted." 

''Which  proves  that  your  master,  the  devil,  is 
good  to  his  own,"  said  Fred. 

"You  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,  my  good 
friend.  Well,  I  can  excuse  that  in  one  whose 
hours  are  numbered.  Fred  Stanley,  Dame  For- 
tune has  favored  you  long.  One  time  I  almost 
fancied  you  bore  a  charmed  life;  but  Fate  can 
bear  you  no  further  than  the  end,  and  your  hour 
has  come.  For  your  present  risk  you  have  no 
one  to  thank  but  yourself,  and,  being  such  a  hot- 
headed fool,  our  dusky  friends  yonder  will  pre- 
vent your  getting  into  any  more  scrapes,  by  send- 
ing you  to  heaven  where  you  belong,  the  first 
opportunity.  Dream  no  longer  that  you  can 
escape.  Y^onder  sun,  which  is  rising,  you  v.  Ill 
never  see  set.  Ere  three  hours  we  will  have 
reached  the  Indian  village,  where  the  stake  is 
prepared,  and  your  doom  is  sealed.  No  power, 
either  in  heaven  or  earth,  can  save  you  now. 
And  if  as  you  say,  the  devil  is  my  master,  I 
most   sincerely   thank    him    for   preserving   you 


88 


I  he  Stake. 


from  the  rope,  since  it  has  reserved  you  for  the 
iar  more  horrible  fate  of  death  by  slow  torture. 
1  shall  faithfully,  like  a  true  friend,  stand  by  you 
to  the  last,  and  witnessing  your  death  agony  con- 
sole you  by  the  agreeable  information,  that  in 
spite  of  Fate,  Edith  Percival  shall  yet  be  mine. 
Doubtless  she  imagines,  as  you  did  a  few  hours 
ago,  that  she  has  eseaped  me  forever.  Like  you, 
she  will  iind  her  mistake  ere  long;  and  1  swear 
she  shall  repent  in  dust  and  ashes  for  her  scorn 
of  me.  Ha!  You  change  color.  I  thought  that 
would  touch  you.  I  see  you  can  fear  for  her 
though  not  for  yourself.  Well,  every  indignity 
that  woman  can  endure  shall  be  hers,  until  your 
dainty  ladylove  shall  weep  for  the  hour  she  was 
born." 

De  Lisle  paused,  while  his  eyes  actually  blazed. 
An  infernal  spirit  might  have  envied  the  dia- 
bolical triumph  that  shone  in  his  face. 

"Villain!  Monster!  Devil!"  cried  Fred,  al- 
most maddened  by  his  words.  "An  hour  of  fear- 
ful reckoning  will  yet  come  for  all  this." 

"You  are  disposed  to  moralize,  my  dear  Stan- 
ley," said  De  Lisle,  with  his  usual  mocking  sneer. 
"Well,  doubtless  the  near  approach  of  death  does 
incline  men  that  way.  As  for  the  future  reck- 
oning you  threaten  me  with,  believe  in  it  if  yon 
will ;  as  for  me,  I  have  a  spirit  above  such  hypo- 
critical whining  and  preacher's  cant.     However, 


The  Stake. 


89 


th 


cm 


I  will  not  argue  the  matter  now,  as  in  a  few 
hours  you  will  have  an  opportunity  of  knowing 
which  of  us  is  right,  if,  when  you  reach  the 
other  world,  you  really  do  see  the  gentleman  in 
ijlack — uiy  master,  you  know — just  give  him  my 
compliinent>,  and  tell  him  I  trust  he  will  always 
remain  as  true  to  me  as  he  has  up  to  the  present. 
Ah!  Here  comes  my  friend,  Long  Knife — sug- 
gestive name,  isn't  it?  I  will  leave  you  to  medi- 
tation and  prayer,  hoping  you  will  offer  up  a  good 
word  for  Edith  and  me,  while  I  consult  with  yon- 
der dusky  chieftain/'  And  lifting  his  hat  with 
mock  politeness,  De  Lisle  turned  on  his  heel  and 
strode  away. 

It  winild  be  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  the 
torrent  of  fier}-,  passionate,  maddening  thoughts 
that  leaped  in  burning  chaos  through  the  brain 
<;^  iMcd.  The  image  of  Edith  in  the  power  of 
De  Lisle,  that  demon  in  human  form,  was  ever 
hef(M-e  him.  And  he  knew  of  the  fate  in  store 
for  Irm-.  and  yet  was  unable  to  assist  her.  He 
grew  maddened,  frenzied  at  the  thought,  and 
struggled  to  burst  his  bonds  until,  finding  all  his 
efforts  ineffectual,  he  sank  back  exhausted. 

Standing  at  a  few  yards  distant,  talking  to 
an  Indian  who,  from  the  number  of  feathers 
waving  from  his  scalp  lock,  appeared  to  be  a 
chief  of  unusual  distinciion,  stood  De  Lisle.  He 
saw  the  impression  his  words  had  made,  and  the 


[)0 


The  Stake. 


smile  of  gratified  hatred  on  his  hps  and  the  hght 
of  triumphant  malice  in  his  eyes  made  him  aj^pear 
more  of  a  demon  than  ever. 

After  a  few  moments  rapid  conversation  the 
parties  separated,  and,  mounting  their  horses, 
prepared  to  start.  Fred  rose  as  before,  guarded 
by  two  of  the  Indians.  De  Lisle  put  himsjli  at 
the  head  of  his  own  men,  not  more  than  licilf 
a  dozen  in  number,  and  all  dashed  off. 

For  over  three  hours  they  rode  on  rapidly, 
and  almost  in  silence.  Now  and  then  De  Lisle 
would  turn  to  converse  with  the  man  Paul  Snowe, 
who  formed  one  of  his  party,  but  this  was  only 
at  intervals,  and  each  seemed  too  much  absorbed 
in  his  own  reflections  to  talk. 

At  length,  as  they  reached  the  summit  of  ^i 
high  hill,  the  whole  party  drew  rein  and  paused 
for  a  moment.  Below  them  lay  an  Indian  vil- 
lage, enveloped  by  hills,  and  forming  a  sort  of 
circle  of  thirty  huts  or  thereabouts.  The  whole 
population  of  the  village  seemed  to  have  turned 
out  to  meet  them,  and  with  wild  shouts  more  than 
half  of  Fred's  captors  dashed  off,  leavins^  him 
with  De  Lisle's  men  and  the  others  to  follow 
more  slowly. 

As  Fred  neared  the  village  he  turned  to  gaze 
on  them,  and  was  forced  to  think  that  a  more 
repulsive-looking  set  he  had  never  beheld.  The 
women  were  even  worse  than  the  men,  with  their 


The  Stake. 


91 


[ight 
>ear 

the 
[ses, 
(ded 

n !: 
liaJf 


flat,  unintellectual-looking  faces,  dirty  persons, 
and  savage,  unpitying  eyes.  Every  look  was 
bent  upon  him  as  he  rode  past,  but  all  were  fierce 
and  stern,  and  even  the  children  seemed  to  glare 
with  their  dark  eyes  as  fiendishly  as  their  parents. 

One  of  the  Indians  made  a  sign  for  Fred  to 
dismount,  and  bidding  him  follow,  led  the  way 
toward  one  of  the  huts,  the  crowd  opening  right 
and  left  to  allow  them  to  pass.  Pushing  aside 
the  skin  which  served  for  a  door,  he  motioned 
him  to  enter,  and  then  binding  him  hand  and 
foot,  he  seated  himself  beside  the  entrance  to 
keep  guard,  his  scowling  black  eyes  fixed  on  his 
prisoner,  with  the  steady  gaze  of  a  basilisk. 

Fred  had  made  no  resistance,  knowing  it  would 
be  worse  than  useless;  and  now  he  sat  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  striving  to  collect 
his  thoughts  and  think  calmly.  In  vain ;  all  was 
wild  confusion  in  his  heart  and  brain ;  everything 
seemed  red  and  dancing  before  his  eyes.  Death, 
death !  seemed  written  in  fiery  characters  every- 
where he  turned.  Never  had  he  felt  so  dreadful 
a  certainty  that  his  last  hour  was  come,  than 
when  sitting  there  expecting  each  moment  to 
be  led  forth  to  the  stake.  He  felt  at  that  bit- 
ter moment  that  De  Lisle's  words  were  true, 
and  that  it  would  have  been  better  to  have  died 
by  the  halter  than  to  be  reserved  for  the  fearful 
doom  now  in  store  for  him.     His  bodilv  suffe 


v 


92 


7u'  Stake. 


"I 


ing  almost  e(iualed  the  mental,  for  the  ligcitures 
which  bound  him  were  cutt'ng  into  the  quivering 
flesh,  and  his  posture  was  so  constrained  that  he 
could  not  move,  lie  strove  to  pray,  but  the  hated 
image  of  De  Lisle,  at  such  times,  would  rise  be- 
fore him,  driving  away  the  pitying  form  of  his 
good  angel,  and  filling  his  mind  with  fierce,  bit- 
ter thoughts. 

And  so  two  or  three  hours  parsed  away.  His 
savage  jailer  still  crouched  at  the  entrance,  glar- 
ing upon  him  Avith  his  eyes  of  fire,  his  half-naked 
body  and  scarred  face  giving  him  the  ap])ea;'ance 
of  some  hideous  painting,  rather  than  a  living 
man.  Now  and  then  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine 
would  steal  in  through  some  chink,  falling  like 
an  angel  hand  on  the  black,  glossy  locks  of  the 
captive.  There  was  a  drowsy  stillness  in  the 
air,  rendered  more  oppressive  by  the  dull,  monot- 
onous hum  that  came  from  the  village.  At 
length  a  profound  stillness  for  a  feWj,moinents 
succeeded.  Fred  listened  in  wonder,  nnd  even 
his  guard  betrayed  some  sign  of  interest.  They 
could  almost  hear  each  other  breathe,  so  pro- 
found was  the  stillness,  when,  lo!  a  yell  so  fierce, 
so  savage,  so  diabolical  that  it  seemed  to  come 
from  the  depths  of  Pandemonium,  broke  upon 
their  ears.  With  an  amwering  cry  the  Indian 
guard  sprang  to  his  feet  and  turned  to  Fred 
with  such  a  look  of   fiendish   triumph  that   he 


m 


The  Stake. 


y3 


could  no  longer  doubt  what  these  shouts  pur- 
I'orted.     They  were  his  death  warrant. 

A  niunient  after  and  the  skin  at  the  entrance 
was  biu'^-t  rudely  aside,  and  two  (ierce-lookiiig 
warriors  entered  and  spoke  a  lew  words  to  tlie 
guard,  who  ininiediately  rushed  hum  the  hut. 
Then  approaching  Fred,  they  seA  ered  his  b(^nds 
,^u{\  made  sij^'us  for  him  to  rise.  With  some  diff> 
(uhy^he  obeyed,  lor  his  limbs  were  cramped  and 
painful  in  the  extreme.  Then  njoiioning  him  to 
follow  they  led  the  wav  into  the  air. 

It  was  a  golden  summer  day.  The  sun  shone 
in  a  sky  of  unclouded  blue,  and  poured  a  glow 
of  light  and  heat  over  the  green  earth.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  the  odor  of  flowers,  and  the 
clear  chirping  of  numberless  birds  mingled 
gently  with  the  dreamy  murmur  of  the  trees. 
Never  had  Nature  appeared  so  lovely  to  him  be- 
fore, as  he  cast  one  long,  last,  lingering  look 
around. 

A  series  of  unearthly  yells  greeted  him  as  he 
appeared.  The  whole  population  of  the  village, 
warriors,  squaws,  and  papooses,  had  assembled 
around  a  large  stake  firmly  driven  in  the  yield- 
ing earth,  and  were  glaring  upon  him  with  their 
fierce  eyes. 

Around  the  stake  w^a?  a  pile  of  fagots  ready 
1o  be  set  on  fire,  and  leading  him  toward  it  they 
bound  his  arms  firmly  behind  him  to  the  stake. 


94 


The  Stake. 


■      '  I.    V 

■  *  • 


■    ft  I 


Almost  unknown  to  himself,  there  had  been 
hitherto  a  wild  hope  still  lingering  in  Fred's 
breast — a  hope  that  Fate  or  rather  Providence 
had  not  reserved  him  for  a  doom  so  fearful. 
But  now  the  last  faint  spark  of  hope  died  out, 
and  with  it  went  all  his  wild,  tumultuous 
thoughts,  and  a  deep,  settled  calm  took  their 
place. 

He  looked  up.  Before  him  stood  De  Lisle,  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  gazing  upon  him 
with  his  evil  eyes.  The  sneering  smile  of  a  de- 
mon was  on  his  face,  all  the  intense  hatred  and 
revenge  he  had  ever  cherished  glowed  in  his 
features,  and  a  light  of  intense  malignity  glit- 
tered in  his  serpentlike  eyes. 

"Well,  Fred  Stanley,  we  have  met  for  the  last 
time,'*  he  said  mockingly.  ''You  see  now  the 
death  you  were  born  for,  your  doom  is  to  roast 
alive  by  a  slow  fire." 

Fred  made  no  reply.  Fixing  his  eyes  on  De 
Lisle's  face  he  gazed  upon  him  so  long  and  so 
steadily  that  involuntarily  De  Lisle  quailed  be- 
fore him.  It  was  but  for  a  moment,  however, 
and  recovering  himself  he  went  on. 

''And  have  you  no  message  to  send  to  Edith? 
I  go  from  here  to-night,  and  with  the  help  of  my 
master,  before  referred  to,  I  shall  carry  her  oft 
in  spite  of  them  all,  to  where  they  will  never 
again  behold  her.     Look  as  fierce  as  you  pleaee, 


The  Stake. 


[ad  been 

Fred's 

>videncc 

fearful. 

lied  out, 
lultuous 
)k  their 

'isle,  his 
Ipon  him 
|of  a  de- 
red  and 
in  his 
iity 


95 


glit- 


■  the  last 
now  the 
to  roast 

>  on  De 
and  so 
iled  be- 
3vve\'er, 

Edith  ? 
'  of  my 
her  off 
never 
please, 


my  good  fellow;  i  rather  enjoy  it  than  otherwise, 
since  it  tells  me  you  feel.  Once,  had  i  not  hated 
you  so  intensely,  with  a  hatred  that  became  part 
of  my  very  being,  1  could  have  envied  you  for 
the  heart  you  had  won,  a  heart  which  I  will 
yet  trample  under  my  feet,  until  your  fate  will 
seem  an  enviable  one  compared  with  hers.  She 
despised  me,  spurned  me  with  contempt  for  the 
gay,  the  handsome,  the  fascinating,  the  gallant 
Fred  Stanley,  and  in  her  turn  she  will  learn 
what  it  is  to  be  spurned.  No  one  who  has  ever 
yet  injured  me  escaped.  To  the  very  ends  of 
the  earth  I  would  follow  them  like  a  bloodhound 
following  a  trail,  until  I  had  wreaked  my  venire- 
ance.  You  wronged  me,  insulted  me,  and  you 
see  the  result — 'a  fate  so  dreadful  that  manhood 
must  shudder  to  contemplate  it  will  be  yours. 
Her  turn  comes  next,  for  now  that  you  stand  on 
the  threshold  of  eternity,  I  swear  to  you,  Fred 
Stanley,  that  neither  Heaven  nor  earth  can  turn 
me  from  my  purpose.'* 

''Monster!"  exclaimed  Fred,  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  low  and  unnatural  with  intense  horror, 
"is  this  the  return  you  make  for  all  Major  Fer- 
cival  has  done  for  you?  For  myself,  I  neither 
have  nor  shall  ask  for  mercy  from  you,  fiend  that 
you  are,  I  would  not  accept  it  if  offered,  but 
gratitude  to  the  old  man  who  has  been  more  than 
a  father  to  you,  should  restrain  you  from  a  crime 


i/} 


The  Stake. 


thai  even  these  bloudihirsiy  .^avagCh  around  us 
v\ould  shrink  Ironi  LOiiiniiUiiig-.  Man,  man!  If 
there  is  one  si)ark  oi  human  nature  in  your  lieiiu- 
ish  heart,  \<>u  will  not  bring"  the  gray  liairs  ot 
that  old  man  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 
ii^,  ''lla,  ha!     And  Fred  Stanley  can  i)lead  for  the 

man  who  spurned  him  like  a  dog!"  laughed  Ue 
Lisle  scorn  full  V.  "If  vou  continue  in  this  strain 
I  shall  begin  to  think  you  are  a  saint.  Your  elo- 
(lUence  is  cjuite  lost,  my  good  friend;  that  one 
si)ark  of  human  nature  you  see  does  not  exist 
I  in  my   fiendish  heart.     Say,   my   friend,   was   it 

1  not  for  j)retty  Edith  you  were  pleading  that  time 

instead  of  her  duting  old  fool  of  a  father? 
Spare  him! — ha,  ha! — why,  1  have  a  long  score 
against  him,  too,  that  nuist  be  vvi[)ed  out  by  a 
few  of  his  doubloons.  When  he  refused  to  com- 
pel his  lovesick  daughter  to  marry  me  I  vowed 
vengeance  against  him  as  well  a.^  the  rest;  and, 
as  I  don't  like  to  be  in  anybody's  debt,  I  shall 
take  care  to  cancel  it  as  soon  as  possible." 

"If  there  ever  was  a  devil  in  human  form  it 
is  you,  Ralph  de  Lisle!"  exclaimed  Fred,  wdth  a 
look  of  hatred  and  loathing;  "to  pursue  thus  with 
the  vengeance  of  a  tiger  an  old  man  and  a  heli)- 
.  less  girl  for  some  fancied  wrong.  Had  it  been 
a  man — but  old  age  arid  helplessness.  Oh,  cow- 
ard!" 
•  De  Lisle's  face  grew  livid  with  rage,  as  he 


The  Stake. 


97 


Iti'id  us 

in !     J  f 

fiend 

fur  tlio 
led  1\' 
slraiii 
'ur  el<) 
lat  one 
't  exist 
was   it 
at  time 
father? 
g  score 
It  by  a 
to  coni- 

vowed 
t;  and, 
I  shall 

orni  it 
^vith  a 
s  vvitfi 

hel[)- 
:  been 

cow- 

*    I 

as  he 


half  drew  a  pistol  and  advanced  a  step  toward 
him. 

Fred  observed  the  action,  and  his  heart 
]>ounded  with  the  hope  that  in  his  rage  ])e  Li.sle 
mij^ht  shoot  him,  and  thus  save  liini  from  a  more 
terrible  fate. 

The  hope  was  in  vain,  however.  De  Lisle  saw 
the  quick  j>leani  of  his  eye,  and  stepping  back  he 
replaced  the  pistol  in  his  belt,  saying  in  his  cus- 
tomary sarcastic  tone: 

"No,  don't  flatter  yourself  J '11  end  your  suffer- 
ings so  speedily.  I  have  no  intention  of  depriv- 
ing my  good  friends  here  of  the  pleasant  scenr* 
they  anticipate.  1  must  confess  it  is  rather  new 
for  me  to  allow  any  one  to  call  me  a  coward,  and 
let  him  escape  inmiediate  chastisement,  but  cir- 
cumstances alter  cases,  you  know.  I  perceive 
Long  Knife  approaching  to  give  the  signal  for 
the  fagots  to  be  lighted,  and  our  red-skinned 
friends  are  growing  impatient.  So  farewell, 
Fred  Stanley.  I  wish  you  a  pleavsant  journey 
to  the  other  world,  and  a  cordial  welcome  when 
you  arrive  there!" 

He  bowed  with  most  ceremonious  politeness, 
and  ijtepped  aside  as  the  savage  chief  approached. 
Waving  his  hand  as  a  signal,  one  of  the  Indians 
advanced  and  thrust  a  light  brand  among  the 
combustibles. 

In  a  moment  the  whole  pile  wgs  in  a  blaze. 


-<  ■^'$ 


•..'' ' 


*>■;  -'■ 


9? 


The  Stake. 


L 


With  screeches  and  yells  that  can  be  likened  to 
nc 'thing  earthly  the  savages  joined  hands  and 
danced  madly  around  the  iiames  that  rose  crack- 
ling and  blazing  and  roaring  as  though  exulting 
in  their  power. 

Fred  raised  his  eyes  to  the  bright  sky  above 
him  for  one  farewell  glance.  It  was  such  a  glori- 
ous day,  bright  and  radiant  with  sunlight. 

Higher  and  higher  rose  the  flames,  fiercer  and 
fiercer  they  blazed,  faster  and  faster  they  spread, 
until  he  stood  alone  within  a  red,  lurid  circle  of 
fire.  The  heat  and  smoke  were  beginning  to 
grow  unbearable,  for  the  flames  had  not  reached 
him.  Fixing  his  eyes  on  the  devouring  monster, 
Fred  silently  committed  his  soul  to  Heaven. 
One  last  thought  of  Edith,  and  then  all  were 
turned  to  that  dread  unknown,  to  which  he  was 
so  rapidly  approaching. 

The  cries,  w^hoops,  yells  and  screeches  of  the 
savages  each  moment  increased,  as  they  danced 
madly  outside  the  ring  of  fire.  He  scarcely 
heeded  or  heard  them,  until  suddenly  they  died 
away.  Every  voice  was  arrested,  the  mad  dance 
ceased,  and  all  stood  as  if  transfixed.  Following 
the  direction  toward  which  every  eye  was  now 
turned,  Fred  beheld  a  sight  which  filled  him  with 
amazement. 


[be  likened  to 

hands  and 

^t  rose  crack- 

^ugh  exuJtino- 

o 

t  sky  above 
such  a  glori- 
lunli^-ht. 
k  fi^-cer  and 
they  spread, 
nd  circle  of 
beginning  to 
'  not  reached 
nig  monster, 
to   Heaven, 
'len  all  were 
^hich  he  was 

eches  of  the 
they  danced 
^e   scarcely 
y  they  died 
•  inad  dance 
Following 
e  was  now 
d  him  with 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

A     NARROW     ESCAPE. 

"Oh !  ask  me  not  to  speak  thy  f ate— 

Oh!  tempt  me  not  to  tell, 
The  doom  shall  make  thee  desolate, 

The  wrong  thou  mayst  not  quell. 
Away !  away !  for  death  would  be 

Even  as  a  mercy  unto  thee." 

The  cause  of  their  astonishment  was  soon  ex- 
plained. There,  before  them,  like  a  spirit,  in  his 
flowing  robes  and  snowy  hair,  stood  the  Hermit 
of  the  Cliffs ! 

With  a  grunt  expressive  of  surprise  and  satis- 
faction, not  unmingled  with  awT,  the  chief  ad- 
vanced to  meet  him.  There  was  something  truly 
imposing  in  the  majestic  appearance  of  the  old 
man,  his  fantastic  robes  fluttering  in  the  air,  his 
long  white  hair  and  beard  flowing  over  his  shoul- 
ders. There  was  an  evident  reverence  and  re- 
spect for  this  singular  old  man  in  the  hearts  of 
the  Indians,  who  looked  upon  him  as  a  superior 
being,  something  more  akin  to  the  Great  Spirit 
than  to  his  fellow  men. 

Pointing  toward  the  prisoner,  the  hermit  ad- 
dressed the  chief  in  his  own  language,  in  a  tone 
more  of  command  than  entreaty.  At  first  his 
words  were  listened  to  impatiently,  then  angrily, 


r- 

lOO 

A  Narroxv  Escal>e. 


and  fiwaily  with  a  sort  of  awe.  As  the  hermit 
went  on,  increasing  *n  veliemence,  the  warrior 
listened  in  superstitious  silence,  and  when  he  had 
concktded  he  bowed  his  head,  and,  followed  by 
the  hermit,  turned  toward  his  own  peuple,  who 
had  stood  watching"  them  during  their  conference 
with  looks  of  mingled  respect  and  curiosity,  and 
began  addressing  them  in  their  own  language. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  Fred  understood  not  a 
word,  ])Ut,  from  the  savage  eyes  that  were  every 
now  and  then  turned  toward  him,  he  judged  he 
was  the  subject  of  their  conversation. 

Surprise  first,  and  then  rage,  was  depicted  on 
every  face,  while  knives  and  tomahawks  were 
brandished,  with  fierce  yells.  But  the  loud, 
harsh  voice  of  the  chief  made  itself  heard  above 
the  din  in  tones  of  anger  and  command.  The 
warriors  gradually  relapsed  into  >ullen  silence, 
while  every  eye  was  directed  toward  the  captive, 
glaring  with  concentrated  passion  and  disappoint- 
ment. 

When  the  chieftain  ceased,  the  hermit  ad- 
dressed the  ein-ai^ed  crowd.  High  and  clear  like 
the  silvery  tones  of  a  trumpet  his  voice  rang  out, 
soothing  tbe  waters  of  passion  which  the  woids 
of  their  chief  had  lashed  into  fury.  As  they  lis- 
tened, their  noisy  demonstrations  of  rage  gave 
place  to  deep  growls  and  sullen  mutterings,  while 
they  glared  like  wild  beasts  upon  Fred,  whose  i)o- 


A  Karrozv  Escape. 


lOI 


ed  on 
were 
loud, 


^e 


The 
ence, 

'ti\e, 
'>2nt- 

like 

JUt, 

ids 
lis- 
ive 
lile 


sition  at  the  stake  was  ii'jvv  almost  utibearablo. 
As  he  folded  his  anus  across  his  breast  and 
ceased  speaking  the  warriors  fell  sullenly  back, 
and  the  chief  himself,  leai)ini;'  over  the  Isurniui;- 
circle,  freed  tlie  bonds  of  Fred  and  motioned  him 
to  follow.  No  second  invitation  wa.^  necessary 
to  make  him  leave  his  place  of  tortine,  and  the 
next  moment  he  stood  beside  the  hermit,  who 
scarcely  gave  him  a  single  glance  as  he  turned 
again  and  addressed  the  chief. 

During  these  proceedings,  which  occupied  but 
a  few  moments,  De  Lisle  had  stood  watching 
then]  hke  one  who  cannot  believe  what  he  sees. 
Now  he  ad\anced  to  where  the  trio  stood,  and 
with  a  face  perfectly  livid  with  rage  and  dis- 
appointment he  turned  toward  the  hermit,  and 
angrilv  exclaimed: 

"Sir,  what  means  this?  By  what  devilish  art 
have  you  bewitched  these  savages  into  giving  up 
their  pre}?" 

'It  mcar^  ,  sir,  that  your  evil  machinations  are 
again  defeated  by  me,  1  use  no  devilish  arts, 
as  you  well  know.  l)ut  there  is  a  Power  higher 
than  that  of  man,  a  Power  that  can  defeat  man's 
most  cunning  scheme  in  its  own  good  time!"  an- 
swered the  hermit,  with  grave  dignity. 

''Death  and  fury!  Old  man,  cease  your  prat- 
ling!"  exclaimed  the  maddened  De  Lisle. 
"Though  this  copper-colored  fool  Ikvq  has  given 


102 


A  Narrow  Escape. 


him  up,  by  Heaven!  I  will  disappoint  you  yet, 
and  you  shall  bear  from  hence  but  a  dead  car- 


case 


)) 


He  drew  a  pistol  as  he  spoke,  but  ere  he  could 
fulfill  his  threat  it  was  struck  from  his  hand  by 
the  chief,  who  brandished  his  tomahawk  before 
his  eyes  with  a  fierce  yell,  and  would  doubtless 
have  prevented  his  ever  drawing  another,  but 
for  the  intervention  of  the  hermit.  Motioning 
De  Lisle  back  with  a  majestic  wave  of  the  hand, 
he  said: 

*'Away,  sir !  One  word  from  me,  and  you  and 
your  band  of  cutthroats  there  will,  in  five  min- 
utes, be  in  eternity!  Though  you  can  show  no 
mercy  to  others,  mercy  shall  be  shown  to  you. 
Away  with  you — your  very  presence  is  pollu- 
tion !" 

*1  obey,  most  reverend  dealer  in  magic,"  said 
De  Lisle,  with  a  mocking  bow  and  smile,  though 
his  face  was  ghastly  with  suppressed  passion, 
''but  think  not,  though  you  are  triumphant  now, 
you  have  conquered  Ralph  de  Lisle.  I  swear  I 
will  yet  have  threefold  vengeance  on  you,  hoary 
sorcerer,  and  on  this  double-dyed  traitor  beside 
you!" 

With  a  fierce  exclamation  Fred  sprang  for- 
ward, and  De  Lisle  would  doubtless  have  been 
felled  to  the  earth,  but  the  hermit  laid  his  hand 
on  the  young  man's  shoulder,  and  said  sternly: 


A  Narrozv  Escape. 


10- 


^ou  yet, 
[ad  car- 
te could 
^and  by 

before 
>ubtless 
■r,   but 
tioning 

hand, 

ou  and 
e  min- 
now no 
o  you. 
pollu- 

said 
hough 
Lssion, 
now, 
Tar  J 
hoary 
>eside 

for- 
been 
hand 
*nly  : 


'1  command  you  not.  '\'engeance  is  mine, 
saith  the  Lord,  and  I  will  repay.'  Leave  this 
fiend  incarnate  to  a  higher  Power.  His  race  will 
soon  be  run.'* 

'*Ha!  Say  you  so,  good  father?"  said  De 
Lisle  ironically.  ''It  might  be  so,  but  I  will  send 
a  few  of  your  particular  friends  before  nic  to  an- 
nounce my  coming.  I  regret  leaving  such  pleas- 
ant company,  but  'necessity  knows  no  law.'  I 
trust  soon  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you 
both  again.     Until  then!" 

He  bowed,  lifted  his  hat,  and  with  the  same 
cold,  sneering  smile  on  his  lip,  he  turned  away. 
Whispering  a  few  words  in  the  ear  of  Paul 
Snowe,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  as  if  fascinated  on 
the  hermit,  he  gave  his  men  the  order  to  mount. 
Ere  five  minutes  had  elapsed  they  were  in  their 
saddles  and  away. 

"We  must  follow  their  example,"  said  the 
hermit  to  Fred.  Then  turning  to  the  chief  he 
spoke  a  few  words  in  the  Lidian  language,  to 
which  the  other  answered  by  a  nod,  and  making 
a  sign  that  they  should  follow  him,  he  turned 
and  forced  his  way  through  the  group  of  dogged- 
looking  warriors,  whose  glances  toward  Fred 
were  anything  but  friendly. 

Fred's  horse  was  led  fortlii,  together  with  the 
hermit's.  The  chief  himself  mounted  and  gave 
some  order  to  his  followers,  upon  which  some 


104 


A  Ntir/oiv  Hscal'C. 


'  I 


half   dozen   sprang   into   their   saddles   and  the 
whole  party  dashed  orf. 

As  they  reached  the  sunnnit  of  the  hill  Fred 
paused  a  moment  to  look  hack.  Scarcely  eight 
hours  had  elapsed  since  he  had  stood  in  the  same 
spot,  hut  how  different  were  his  feelings!  Then 
he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  death,  with  his 
deadly  foe  on  one  side  and  hloodthirsty  savages 
on  the  other.  Now  he  was  safe  and  free,  or  at 
least  on  the  high  road  to  freedom,  saved  by  the 
same  mysterious  be'.ng  who  had  saved  his  life 
before.  All  the  events  since  his  capture  had 
passed  so  rapidly  that  he  was  almost  tempted  to 
believe  it  was  but  a  troubled  dream.  A  glance, 
however,  at  his  dusky  companions  soon  convinced 
him  of  the  unpleasant  reality,  and  quijkening  his 
pace  he  descended  the  hill,  and  bade  a  last  and 
unreluctant  adieu  to  the  Indian  village. 

Near  the  spot  where  Fred  had  ])cen  made  cap- 
tive their  savage  escort  left  them,  pnd  the  pre- 
server and  preserved  went  on  their  journey  alone. 

For  a  time  they  rode  in  silence.  Both  were 
too  deeply  absorbed  in  thought  to  converse.  At 
length  the  hermit  looked  up  and  said: 

**Yours  was  a  narrow  escape,  my  friend. 
Vou  were  indeed  literally  snatched  a  brand  from 
the  burning." 

"And  to  you  I  owe  it,"  replied  Fred  gratefully. 
''You  seem  fated  to  place  me  under  a  debt  of 


sa 
of 


A  Narroiv  Hscape. 


105 


[and  iht 

ill  Frtd 
ly  eight 
Jie  same 
.'     Then 
ith  his 
savages 
e,  or  at 
'  by  the 
his  hfG 
le   had 
pted  to 
glance, 
ivinced 
ling  his 
1st  and 

ie  cap- 
e  p  re- 
alone, 
were 
.     At 

iend. 
from 

)t  of 


gratitude.  I  will  not  altcuipt  to  thank  y(ju  for 
saving  me  from  a  doom  so  dreadful.  No  words 
of  mine " 

"I  want  no  thank.s,"  interrupted  the  hermit, 
'■[f  you  really  feel  i^ratcful  let  your  gratitude 
l)e  inward,  and  manifest  itself  by  actions  instead 
of  words.  I  know  the  world  too  well  to  place 
much  confidence  in  hollow  promises!" 

''How  did  you  discover  I  was  a  prisoner?"  in- 
quired Fred,  whose  curiosity  could  no  longer  be 
restrained. 

"Very  easily.  I  foresaw  danger  when  you 
started,  and  followed  you." 

"Then  you  were  near  me  during  my  journey." 
said  Fred.  "I  wonder  the  savages  did  not  dis- 
cover you." 

"I  was  near  you  at  fust,  but  was  unable  to 
ride  forward  as  rapidly  as  your  party.  How- 
ever, I  followed  your  trail  and  reached  the  vil- 
lage a  few  hours  after,  and  providentially  in  time 
to  save  your  life." 

"It  is  most  wonderful  they  would  surrender  a 
captive  at  the  stake,"  said  Fred.  "Your  power, 
sir,  seems  to  l)e  omnipoteiu." 

"i  had  a  strotig  claim  on  the  gratitude  of  the 
chief,"  said  the  hermit.  "Once,  when  I  found 
him  alone,  wounded  and  almost  dying.  I  had  him 
lK>rne  to  my  dwelling  and  nursed  him  until  he 
recovered.     Since  then  he  has  been  anxious  to 


loC 


A  Narroiv  Escape. 


rl 


redeem  the  promise  made  at  the  time,  to  grant 
me  the  first  favor  I  ever  asked  of  him;  and  as 
your  Hfe  chanced  to  be  the  first  he  was  forced 
to  grant  it.  Besides,"  he  added  with  a  smile, 
*'his  superstitious  followers  consider  me  some- 
thing more  than  mortal,  and  labor  under  the  de- 
lusion that  in  offending  me  they  will  draw  upon 
themselves  the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit.'* 

''Your  power  extends  over  more  than  super- 
stitious savages,"  said  Fred,  "my  father,  stern 
and  haughty  as  he  is,  quails  before  you  as  he 
has  never  done  before  any  other  living  man. 
Would  I  knew  the  secret  of  your  mysterious 
power!" 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  face  of  the  hermit, 
and  when  he  spoke  again  his  voice  was  unusually 
low  and  solemn: 

''Some  day,  ere  long  perhaps,  you  will  learn 
all.  Until  that  time,  rest  in  peace,  and  believe 
this  mystery  is  all  for  the  best.  I  go  now  to 
my  home  on  the  cliffs,  but  something  tells  me  we 
will  soon  meet  again." 

"Well,  let  it  be  for  joy  or  for  sorrow,  the 
meeting  will  be  welcome,"  replied  Fred;  "but  why 
should  you  reside  in  that  lonely  spot,  why  n(»t 
seek  a  home  with  your  friends?" 

"Friends?"  repeated  the  hermit,  almost  bit- 
terly; "who  in  this  selfish  world  deserve  that 
sacred  name?     No,  I  have  done  with  trusting 


A  Narrow  Escape. 


107 


grant 
md  as 
"orced 
smile, 
|some- 
le  de- 
upon 

uper- 
steni 
as  he 
man. 
rious 

Tmit, 
ually 

learn 
lieve 
V  to 
^  we 

the 

A'hy 
nut 

hit- 
iiat 


mir 


the  world;  my  experience  has  taught  me  how 
much  rehance  there  is  to  be  placed  in  it.  I  would 
be  alone  with  nature — watching  the  mighty, 
ever-moaning  sea,  listening  to  the  wild  shrieks 
of  the  wind,  or  gazing  upon  the  blue  lightning, 
I  am  happy.  I  never  wish  to  mingle  with  my 
fellow  men  more." 

''Strange,  eccentric  being,"  thought  Fred  as 
he  gazed  on  the  pale  face  of  his  companion,  now 
lit  up  by  enthusiasm.  ''What  strange  vicissi- 
tudes he  must  have  passed  through!" 

"What  do  you  think  now  of  my  prediction?" 
said  the  hermit  quietly,  after  a  few  moment's 
pause. 

"Think?"  replied  Fred,  ''why,  that  your  proph- 
ecy has  in  a  most  unpleasantly  short  time  been 
fulfilled,  and  I  must  apologize  for  ever  presum- 
ing to  doubt  its  truth." 

"I  fear  still  greater  dangers  are  in  store  for 
you,"  said  the  hermit  gloomily. 

"From  what  quarter  now?"  inquired  Fred. 

"From  your  mortal  enemy,  De  Lisle.  There 
was  something  perfectly  fiendish  in  his  look  as 
he  left  us;  and  it  needs  no  soothsayer  to  tell  he 
is  even  now  plotting  against  you." 

"Well,  it  seems  to  be  a  drawn  battle,"  said  Fred 
with  a  half  smile,  "he  plotting  and  you  counter- 
plotting. As  for  me,  I  seem  like  a  rudderless 
craft  in  the  stream  of  life,  drifting  whichever 


}t:S 


.'/   Marrow  Escape. 


*  I 


Vv'i) 


y 


th 


e  current  sets. 


It  18  useless  si  riving  In 


jj;"uard  a.^ainst  danj^ers  when  we  cannot  foresee 
in  what  sliai>e  they  may  cuine.  S«i,  my  dear  sir, 
I  shall  preserve  th.e  even  lenor  of  my  way,  and 


jiiaee  my  trnst  m  I  roviclence  a 


nd 


\ou. 


n 


Youth  is  always  hopeful  and  l)lindly   trusl- 


int::,"'  said  ihe  hermit;  "but  Heaven   forbid 


my 


presentiments  should  prove  true,  for  there  may 
be  dangers  worse  than  death.  Disgrace  to  you 
would  be  a  tliousandfold  worse.'' 

•'Disgrace!"  exclaimed  bVed,  almost  furiously, 
while  his   face   flushed;   "who  dares   coujile   my 


name  w 


ith  d 


is^irace 


"De  Lisle  will  endeavor  to  do  so,  rest  assured," 
said  the  hermit ;  "there — there  is  no  need  of  look- 
ing so  fierce  about  it.  Do  you  imagine  there  i.s 
anything  he  can  do  to  injure  you  in  the  opinion 
of  the  world,  more  especially  in  that  of  the  Per- 
civals,  that  he  will  not  do?  And,  speaking  of 
the  Percivals,  1  presume  that  is  your  present 
destination." 

"No,"  said  Fred,  "I  go  there  no  more.  Would 
lo  Heaven  I  had  never  t:one  there." 


les. 


"It  would  have  been  better  for  all  ])a.rt 
said  the  hermit:  "Init  the  past  can  never  be  re- 
called, and  you  can  only  endeavor  to  atone  for  it 
by  absenting  yourself  f<jr  ihe  future.  Edith's 
ove  for  you  has  remained  firm  throughcait.  nm\ 


h 


will  to  the  end — for  her  you  need  have  no  fear. 


A  Narrow  Escape. 


109 


iving  in 

foresee 
oar  sir. 
ay,  and 

.'  trust- 
bid  my 
re  may 
10  you 

iously, 
pic   my 

ured;' 
)f  look- 
here  is 
^')hlkm 
le  l\r~ 
h)fy  of 
)rc  j-rnt 


The  war  will  soon  be  over,  and  there  can  be  little 
doubt  which  side  will  be  victorious.  Major  Per- 
cival's  views  may  change  in  time,  and  his  fair 
(laujj^hter  may  yet  be  your  bride.  Who  can  tell 
what  the  future  may  bring  forth?" 

"Who  indeed  P'Uhought  Fred,  "though  1  fancy 
that  prediction  is  altogether  too  good  to  prove 
true." 

"And  now  farewell!"  said  the  hcrn)it,  when 
they  emerged  from  the  forest  road.  "1  go  to 
my  wild  home  amid  the  cliffs,  while  you  go  to 
follow  the  path  of  glory.  It  may  be,  when  we 
meet  again,  many  things  now  hidden  in  dark- 
ness shall  be  brought  to  light.  When  in  danger, 
remember  you  have  a  friend  in  the  Hermit  of 
the  Cliffs." 

He  turned  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  taken 
V<y  Fred,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight.  , 


Would 


nics." 

be  rc- 

for  it 

t.  am! 
fear. 


!ri 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   LAST    RESOLVE. 

"There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  his  sneer, 
That  raised  emotions  both  of  rage  and  fear; 
And  where  his  frown  of  hatred  darkly  fell, 
Hope,  witheiing,  fled — and  Mercy  sighed  farewell." 

— The  Corsair. 

Months  passed  away.  Hoary  winter  had 
shrunk  back  before  smiling  spring,  and  the 
golden  summer  days  w^re  approaching  again. 
Many  exciting  events  had  taken  place  since  the 
circumstances  recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  for 
the  war  was  over  and  America  was  free. 

It  was  a  dark  sultry  night  in  June.  In  the 
back  parlor  of  an  unpretending-looking  inn  sat 
twcF  men  conversing.  They  were  our  old  ac- 
quaintances Ralph  de  Lisle  and  his  amiable  friend 
Paul  Snowe. 

''What  is  this  wonderful  plot  you  have  in  your 
wise  head  now,  De  Lisle?"  inquired  the  man 
Paul. 

"A  plot  that,  like  some  great  medicines,  must 
either  kill  or  cure,"  answered  De  Lisle;  "one 
that  makes  Edith  Percival  mine  beyond  hope  of 
redemption." 

"I  never  knew  one  of  your  plans  yet  that  you 


The  Last  Resolve. 


Ill 


rewell." 
I  Corsair. 

ter  had 
and  the 
g  again. 

ince  the 
3ter,  for 
ee. 

In  the 
•  inn  sat 

old  ac- 
le  friend 


;  in  your 
the  man 


es,  must 

le;   "one 

hope  of 


that  you 


were  not  equally  sure  of.  Take  care  this  does 
not  prove  a  vvill-o'-lhe-vvisp  like  the  rest,"  said 
the  other,  with  a  sneer. 

"No,  by  Heaven!"  exclaimed  De  Lisle,  setting 
his  teeth  fiercely;  "this  nii;ht  Edith  Perclval  shall 
cither  be  my  bride  or  that  of  death;  this  night 
the  crisis  of  her  fate  and  mine  has  come." 

"Bah!  all  foolery,  all  child's  play!"  said  i^aul 
Snowe  in  his  jibing  tone.  "You  lay  wonderful 
plans  and  see  them  slip  through  your  fingers 
when  they  are  in  your  power.  This  girl  who 
has  made  such  a  fool  of  you  was  for  a  week 
under  the  same  roof  with  you,  her  lover  and 
your  mortal  foe  was  likewise  within  arm's  length 
of  you.  Well,  you  let  both  go,  let  them  give  you 
the  slip,  and  laugh  at  you  and  your  plans  in 
safety." 

''For  that  I  may  thank  your  dainty  daughter 
and  that  villainous  young  scoundrel  Joe  Smith," 
said  De  Lisle  angrily.  'T  should  have  liked  to 
twist  her  treacherous  neck  on  my  return,  and 
would  have  done  so  but  for  you." 

'T  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Paul  dehberately 
filling  a  glass  of  brandy;  "but  you  well  know  you 
are  too  completely  in  my  power  to  play  any  of 
your  tricks  off  on  me.  What  would  you  do  if 
I  took  a  fancy  to  split  some  day  and  let  all  out?" 

'Tf  you  would,"  ex/l-imed  De  Lisle,  his  face 


112 


The  Last  Resolve, 


.,1 


•II 

ri' 
■.sll 


growing,  absolutely  livid  v/ith  rage  as  he  drew 
a  pistol,  ''I  would " 

''What?"  said  Paul  Snowe,  with  his  deriding 
smile,  as  his  leader  paused, 

"Shoot  you  like  a  dog!"  muttered  De  Lislo 
through  his  clenched  teeth, 

"Two  could  play  at  that  game  my  worthy  cap- 
tain," said  the  man,  carelessly  totiching  a  long 
knife  he  wore.  "If  I  took  a  fancy  for  preachinj^ 
there  would  be  a  slight  obstacle  in  the  way  of  your 
shooting  me — something  like  this."  And  Paul 
made  a  peculiar  motion  under  his  left  ear  indic- 
ative of  hanging. 

"Villain!"  said  De  Lisle,  "there  was  a  time 
when  you  would  not  dare  to  be  thus  insolent. 
But  boast  away,  I  fear  you  not;  you  are  too  care- 
ful of  your  own  precious  jugular  to  risk  it  by 
such  an  experiment.  I  fancy  when  Ralph  de 
Lisle  swings  Paul  Snowe  will  keep  him  com- 
pany." 

"Perhaps  so.  Well,  it's  a  comfort  to  think  tho 
world  will  wag  just  as  merrily  when  we  are 
gone.  There  will  ne  few  tears  shed  over  oui" 
graves — eh,  captain?" 

"You  forget  your  affectionate  daughter,"  said 
De  Lisle  sneeringly, 

"Elva?  She  will  be  better  without  me;  but 
for  her  sake  I  will  avoid  Jack  Ketch  as  long  as 
l>ossible.     But  to  change  the  subject,  which  is 


J^J 


The  Last  Resolve. 


113 


le  drew 

deriding 

)e  Lisle 

thy  cap- 
a  long 
•caching 

of  youi" 
id  Paul 

r  indie - 

a  time 
Insolent. 
00  care- 
■>k  it  by 
alph  de 
m  coni- 

link  tho 
we  arc 

^^er  our 

r,"  said 

ne;  but 
long-  as 
hich  is 


getting  rather  personal  when  you  talk  of  hang- 
ing, how  do  you  propose  to  abduct  Miss  Perci- 
val  r 

"I  shall  not  abduct  her,  my  good  friend;  she 
must  come  with  me  of  her  own  free  will  or  not 
at  all." 

"Faith!  You're  getting  mighty  particular. 
I've  seen  the  time  you  weren't  so  choice,  and  was 
glad  to  get  her  by  hook  or  by  crook." 

"Yes,  but  that  time  has  passed,  and  my  proud 
Lady  Edith  shall  sue  to  me  now  as  I  have  here- 
tofore done  to  her.  Love  and  hatred,  worthy 
Paul,  are  nearly  akin.  Next  to  myself  I  loved 
that  girl  better  than  anything  on  earth.  Well, 
she  jilted  me  for  this  dashing  rebel — or  patriot 
1  suppose  I  should  say,  since  they  have  triumphed 
— and  I  hate  her  now  with  an  intensity  far  sur- 
passing any  love  I  ever  felt  for  her.  Now  I 
would,  as  far  as  love  is  concerned,  a  thousand 
times  rather  marry  your  pretty  daughter  Elva 
than  her." 

"Much  obliged  for  the  honor,"  said  Paul 
dryly.  "But,  in  the  name  of  my  'pretty  daughter 
Elva,*  I  beg  respectfully  to  decline  the  illustrious 
alliance." 

Dc  Lisle  smiled  scornfully,  but  without  notic- 
ing his  words  went  on: 

"Affection,  therefore,  you  see,  has  nothing  to 

do  with  my  wish  to  make  Edith  Percival  my 

•^  .  ,  .     .     ...       '*■ 


114 


The  Last  Resolve. 


I  i-,  ■ 


wife.  Hatred  and  revenge  are  my  sole  motives. 
She  loathes  the  very  sight  of  me,  I  know,  and 
there  is  no  other  means  by  which  I  can  punish 
her  for  it  so  well.  Her  lover,  too — Master  Fred 
— will  feel  it  more  than  anything  else  I  could 
possibly  do.  Therefore,  these  are  my  reasons 
for  wishing  to  marry  Edith." 

''I  didn't  ask  you  for  your  reasons,"  said  Paul. 
"I  don't  take  so  much  interest  in  either  of  you. 
iYou  say  you  are  going  to  make  her  marry  you. 
Now,  how  are  you  going  to  do  it  ?" 

^'Listen!"  said  his  friend,  with  a  sardonic 
smile.  "I  have  learned  that  my  quondam  lady- 
love has  taken  a  fanoy  to  a  sick  girl  in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  visits  her  very  often.  A  brother  of 
the  invalid,  a  child  of  nine,  goes  for  her  when 
wanted.  This  little  fellow  I  told  to  meet  me  to- 
night at  a  place  I  appointed,  but  I  have  not  yet 
told  him  what  I  want.  I  think  I  can  manage  to 
induce  him  to  bring  Edith  out.  I  will  meet  her, 
urge  her  to  fly  with  me,  and  if  she  persists  in 
refusing " 

"Well,  and  if  she  does?"  said  the  man  look- 
ing up. 

"I  will  stab  her  to  the  heart!"  exclaimed  De 
Lisle,  in  a  fierce,  hoarse  whisper,  while  his  eyes 
glittered  with  a  demoniacal  light. 

Paul  Snowe  drew  back  involuntarily  at  the 


The  Last  Resolve. 


115 


motives. 

low,  and 

n  punish 

ter  Fred 

I  could 

reasons 

id  Paul. 

of  you. 

rry  you. 

sardonic 
im  lady- 
le  neigh- 
rother  of 
ler  when 
it  me  to- 
;  not  yet 
anage  to 
neet  her, 
rsists  in 

an  look- 

med  De 
his  eves 

'  at  the 


strange,  wild  expression  on  his  companion's  face. 
With  a  look  of  horror  he  exclaimed: 

'*No,  no!  Devil  as  you  are,  you  would  not 
murder  an  unoffending  girl!" 

''Ha!  ha!  Paul  Snowe  turned  preacher!" 
mocked  De  Lisle.  ''When  was  it  your  conscience 
became  so  tender,  honest  Paul — since  the  night 
your  Spanish  knife  let  the  moonlight  through 
Dandy  Dan's  backbone  for  calling  you  a  liar — 
eh?" 

^'Perdition  seize  you!  Hush!"  exclaimed 
Paul,  growing  pale.  "I  meant  not  to  dissuade 
you  from  it;  but  it  will  be  discovered,  and  then 
we  will  swing ^  you  know." 

"Well,  it's  swing  with  us  any  way,  sooner  or 
later.  One  may  as  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as 
a  lamb,  Paul,"  said  De  Lisle  recklessly. 

'To  be  sure,"  said  Paul,  turning  uneasily  in 
his  chair  and  draining  another  glass  of  brandy. 
"But  where's  the  use  of  being  so  desperate? 
You  ought  to  take  precautions." 

"So  I  have,  my  honest  friend.  If  it  does  come 
to  the  worst,  I  think  I  have  arranged  matters 
in  such  a  manner  that  all  tlie  blame  will  fall  on 
the  shoulders  of  that  meddler,  Fred  Stanley." 

"Ha!     You  have — in  what  way?" 

"This  dagger  belongs  to  him ;  I  saw  his  name 
engraved  on  it,  and  thinking  it  might  be  useful 
to  me,  I  took  charge  of  it.     About  three  hours 


ii6 


The  Last  Resolve, 


!^.^. 


M- 


ago  1  saw  him  parting  with  Major  Percival,  and 
the  major  foaming  and  scolding-  like  an  enraged 
washerwoman.  Shortly  after  he  mounted  hi, 
horse,  and  leii  the  village  m  hot  haste.  Now,  it 
the  major's  daughter  is  found  mur — well,  you 
know  what  1  mean — to-morrow  mornincr,  witli 
his  dagger  somewhere  near,  that  circtmistance, 
taken  in  connection  with  his  quarrel  with  the 
major  and  subsequent  flight  from  the  village,  wiU 
without  dc'ubt  place  the  worthy  youth's  neck  in 
a  tight  place,  and  convince  the  world  generally, 
and  his  admirers  particularly,  that,  after  all  his 
escapes,  iie  was  born  to  be  hanged  in  the  end." 

There  was  a  wicked  and  most  sinister  smile 
on  l)e  IJsie's  lips,  a  glittering  light  in  his  evil 
eyes  lliat  involuntarily  made  Paul  Snowe,  hard- 
ened iii  crime  though  he  was,  draw  back  in  hor- 
ror. Thei-e  was  something  so  fearfully  cold- 
blooded in  the  manner  in  which  he  unfolded  hi:, 
diabolical  plot,  that  his  listener  placed  his  hand 
on  the  hilt  of  his  knife,  and  looked  for  a  moment 
into  l)e  Lisle's  gleaming  eyes  in  silence, 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  demanded  [)e 
Lisle  at  length. 

"Think!'*  repeated  Paul;  "why,  that  if  there 
ever  was  a  fiend  incarnate  on  earth  you  are  one!" 

"Ha,  ha!  Well,  no  matter  for  that.  Do  you 
not  think  my  plan  a  safe  one?" 

'I  neither  know  nor  care,  Ralph  de  Lisle.     II 


<<] 


"S"  : 


val,  and 
enraged 
ited   hi. 

Now,  it 

eii,   yon 

g,    vvitii 

iistanci', 

^/ith   the 

igo,  will 

neck  ill 

neraily, 

r  all  his 

end." 

ir  smiie 

his  evil 

e,  hard- 

:  in  hcrr- 

iy    cold- 

Idcd  hi. 

us  hand 

moment 


iided  I)e 


it  there 

re  one!" 

Do  you 


isle.     I£ 


The  Last  Resok'e 


117 


yoLi  are  safe  yourself,  all  right;  it  you  are  not 
sale,  all  right  likewise.  I  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  your  diabolical  plans;  therefore,  as  I 
said  before,  1  neither  know  nor  care  whether 
you  are  safe  or  not."        .  ' 

"Insolent  villain!"  exclaimed  De  Lisle,  5i)ring- 
iiig  fiercely  to  his  feet,  "you  shall  repent  this." 

"Hands  oft",  De  Lisle!"  said  Paul  boldly  con- 
fronting him.  "I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  Coai- 
niit  your  own  murders  for  the  future,  I  will  ha;  e 
no  more  to  do  with  such  a  cold-blooded  assassin." 

For  a  moment  De  Lisle  glared  upon  him  like  a 
wild  beast,  but  the  bold  eye  of  Paul  Snowe  quailed 
not  beneath  his  burning  gaze.  Seeing  how  little 
he  was  feared  De  Lisle  changed  his  tactics,  and 
tin-owing  himself  back  in  his  chair  he  said,  with 
a  forced  laugh: 

"Well,  we  won't  quarrel,  Paul;  we  have  been 
friends  too  long  to  part  in  anger,  and  especially 
ab'.jut  such  a  trifle." 

"I  never  was  a  friend  of  yours.  Captain  de 
Lisle,"  said  Paul  doggedly.  "Villainy  bound  us 
together;  but  the  link  of  crime  is  very  different 
from  that  of  friendship." 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  said  De  Lisle,  with 
affected  carelessness,  as  he  replaced  the  dagger 
within  his  vest.  "And  now  I  see  by  yonder  time- 
piece that  'tis  time  I  was  keeping  rny  appointment 


I 


ii8 


The  Last  Resolve. 


it 


'  i 


with  little  nine-year-old.  You'll  wait  for  me 
here,  of  course?" 

"No,  I  won't!"  was  the  short,  sharp,  and  de- 
cisive reply.  ''1  have  waited  for  you  too  long, 
as  I  may  yet  find  out  to  my  cost.  You  and  I  part 
to-night,  De  Lisle,"  continued  Paul  Snowe,  ris- 
ing and  taking  his  hat.  "I  intend  leaving  the 
country  as  soon  as  possible,  and  if  you  wish  to 
avoid  the  hangman  you  will  follow  my  example, 
and  let  Edith  Percival  alone.  Don't  turn  so 
white  about  the  gills,  man,  I  won't  peach.  But 
you  know,  however  long  the  fox  may  run  he'll 
be  caught  by  the  tail  at  last.  So,  as  we  are  part- 
ing, ril  take  a  last  glass  with  you  in  memory  of 
old  times.  Here's  wishing  you  long  life  and  an 
escape  from  the  halter." 

*1'11  drink  no  such  toast,"  said  De  Lisle,  bit- 
ing his  lips  to  keep  down  his  increasing  anger. 
''Here's  to  the  bright  eyes  of  your  daughter 
Elva." 

"So  be  it  then,"  said  Paul,  refilling  his  glass ; 
"and  on  those  same  bright  eyes  you  will  never 
look  again,  my  susceptible  friend.  Good  night, 
De  Lisle,  and  luck  be  with  you." 

He  turned  and  quitted  the  room.  De  Lisle 
looked  after  him  with  an  evil  smile  as  he  mut- 
tered : 

"Say  you  so,  worthy  Paul?  That  remains  to 
be  seen.     And  now  for  the  drama  of  the  eve- 


The  Last  Resolve. 


119 


or   me 

nd  de- 
long, 
I  part 
e,  ris- 
ig  the 
ash  to 
ample, 
irn  so 
But 
n  he'll 
£  part- 
ory  of 
md  an 

ie,  bit- 
anger, 
ughter 


iiiiig.     Shall  it  be  a  tragedy  or  a  farce?     Well, 
ere  midnight  I  will  know." 

He  drank  deeply  as  if  to  nerve  himself  for 
what  was  approaching,  and  then,  muffling  him- 
self in  his  cloak  and  drawing  his  hat  down  over 
his  brow,  he  quitted  the  obscure  inn  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  gloomy  night. 


glass ; 
never 
night, 


Lisle 
i  mut- 


ims  to 
e  eve- 


.\..i*-' 


/ 


W:    »■ 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  OLD   HOUSE   ON    THE   BLUFF. 

"A  willing  messenger — Crime's  ready  tool — 
A  thing  of  flesh  and  blood  that  may  be  bought 
And  sold  like  vilest  merchandise." 

The  sky  was  dark  and  overcast  with  storm- 
threatening  clouds.  The  moon  struggled  feebly 
on  her  way,  shedding  a  sickly  light  over  the 
earth.  The  wind  had  been  rising  all  the  eve- 
ning, and  now  blew  chill  and  raw,  accompanied 
by  a  light  drizzle.  Lights  were  twinkling  here 
and  there  through  the  village  as  De  ^.isle  passed 
along,  but  there  were  few  abroad,  a  circumstance 
he  rejoiced  at  lest  he  should  be  discovered. 
Those  who  did  meet  him  as  they  hurried  home- 
ward, paused  to  stare  in  surprise  at  the  tsall,  dark, 
muffled  figure  which  strode  along  as  though 
gifted  with  the  famous  seven-league  boots. 

Faster  and  faster  he  walked,  for,  half  mad 
with  excitement,  he  strove  to  lose  memory  in  the 
rapid  motion.  His  head,  hot  and  throbbing,  felt 
as  though  it  would  burst.  He  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  leaning  against  a  tree,  took  off  his  hat 
that  the  cool  breeze  might  relieve  him.  His  long, 
dark  locks  streamed  wildly  in  the  wind  behind 
him,  and  his  heart  throbbed  so  loudly  that  every 


The  Old  House  on  the  Bluff. 


121 


hulsatioii  sounded  like  the  stroke  of  a  sledge- 
iiaminer.  His  hands  were  red  with  blood,  his 
soul  dark  with  crime ;  but  never  had  he  meditated 
s )  dreadful  a  luuider  as  weiglied  on  his  heart  to- 
night. The  shadows,  as  they  flitted  by,  looked 
to  his  heated  imagination  like  specters  rising 
from  the  grave  to  warn  him  l:>ack. 

The  village  clock  struck  nine.  He  started  at 
the  sound,  and,  unable  to  remain  longer  inactive, 
started  on  more  rapidly  than  before.  As  he 
walked  he  suddenly  lifted  his  head  and  beheld 
tiie  churchyard  before  him.  To  reach  the  place 
where  the  boy  was  to  meet  him  he  must  pass  it, 
The  tombstones  gleamed  white  and  ghastly  in  the 
dim  light.  How  they  seemed  to  glare  upon  him 
with  their  cold,  pale  eyes! 

He  shuddered  and  hurried  on  faster  than  ever. 
His  rapid  walking^  soon  broug^ht  him  to  the  place 
of  rendezvous;  it  was  an  old  deserted  house  on 
the  black  hillside,  known  as  the  Barn  on  the 
Bluff.  It  had  been  untenanted  for  many  a  day, 
and  was  only  used  as  a  shelter  for  sheep  on 
stormy  nights.  No  other  house  was  near  it  on 
any  side.  It  stood  alone,  black,  grim,  and  dismal, 
a  fit  place  for  the  dark  scene  it  was  to  witness  that 
night. 

A  boy  of  about  nine,  a  vacant-eyed,  stupid- 
faced  urchin,  stood  shivering  beside  one  of  the 
broken  windows,  and  endeavoring  to  peer  out 


122 


The  Old  House  on  the  Bluff. 


1$r 


into  the  gloom.  Hearing  approaching  footsteps 
he  started  from  his  corncM*,  and  met  De  Lisle  in 
the  doorway. 

"If  you'd  stayed  much  longer  I  wouldn't  'a' 
waited,"  said  the  boy  rather  sullenly.  "Why 
didn't  you  come  sooner?" 

"It's  time  enough,"  said  De  Lisle.  "Do  you 
think  you'll  find  Miss  Percival  at  home  now?" 

"3e  sure  I  will,"  replied  the  boy.  "They've 
a  party  to-night  and  she'll  be  sure  to  be  there." 

"A  party!"  muttered  De  Lisle;  "that  defeats 
all  my  plans.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  be- 
fore, you  young  rascal.  She  won't  come  with 
you  if  they  have  a  party." 

"Yes  she  will,  too,"  said  the  boy.  "She  did  it 
afore,  and  she  told  our  Harriet  any  time  she 
wanted  her  she'd  come,  and  no  bother  about  it." 

"Well,  will  you  go  and  tell  her  youi  sister  is 
dying,  or  any  other  lie  that  you  think  will  be 
likely  to  bring  here  here.  See,  I  will  give  you 
this  gold  guinea  now,  and  a  dozen  when  you 
come  back." 

**Will  you,  though?*'  exclaimed  the  boy,  his 
eyes  sparkling  with  delight. 

"Yes,  if  you  bring  her  here  alone.  Mind, 
don't  tell  her  there  is  a  man  waiting  for  her 
here.  You  have  to  pass  this  bluff  on  your  way 
home,  have  you  not?" 

"Yes;  but  there's  another  shorter  way." 


The  Old  House  on  the  Bluff. 


^23 


"Oh,  well,  don't  mind  the  shorter  way.  Bring 
her  here  alone,  mind,  alone.  Do  you  think  there 
is  any  danger  of  her  being  accompanied  by  any 


D'> 


one : 

"No,  I  guess  not;  she  often  came  with  me 
alone  to  see  Harriet  as  late  as  this." 

''Very  well  then;  go  now  and  don't  be  long. 
Remember,  if  you  bring  Miss  Percival  here  alone, 
you  shall  have  my  purse  upon  your  return." 

''All  right,"  answered  the  boy,  touching  his 
cap  as  he  quitted  the  old  house  and  bounded  down 
the  hill. 

Folding  his  arms  across  his  breast  and  draw- 
ing his  cloak  closer  around  him,  De  Lisle  leaned 
against  the  broken  doorway  and  strove  to  still 
the  wild  tumult  ivithin,  and  think.  Think! 
How  could  he  think  with  heart  and  brain  burn- 
ing and  throbbing  with  such  a  blinding  intensity 
of  pairk  His  face  was  deadly  pale,  his  eyes  in- 
flamed and  bloodshot,  his  lips  dry  and  parched. 
A  horror,  nameless  and  hitherto  unfelt,  was 
stealing  over  him.  It  was  as  if  some  dread  ca- 
lamity were  hovering  over  his  own  head. 

All  was  profoundly  still.  The  lights  in  the 
village  below  w^ere  going  out  one  by  one,  as  the 
simple  villagers  retired  to  rest,  Httle  dreaming  of 
him  w^ho  leaned  silent  and  alone  in  the  old  house 
with  such  a  tumultuously  throbbing  heart.  The 
wind  wailed  dirgelike  through  the  trees,  and  at 


!;.>4 


The  Old  IIou/c  en  the  Bluff. 


inurval.^  the  oiniiunks  croak  ut  a  raven — that  evil 
bird  oi  night — a<  ii  flew  past  wuukl  l)rcak  upoJi 
his  car,  start  ling  him  Hke  a  galvanic  shock. 

"Woukl  this  night  were  over  I"  he  nuittereci, 
taking  off  his  hat,  and  sliaking  back  his  bhick 
locks.  "Am  1  lurning  coward  that  ]  (|uake  thus 
at  every  sound?  Ralph  de  l.isle,  courage  man! 
'Tis  but  a  girl  more  or  less  in  the  world,  and  there 
is  no  one  to  know  it." 

No  one  to  know  it!  A  stray  gleam  of  moon- 
light breaking  through  the  clouds  fell  on  his  face 
white  as  that  of  tlie  dead,  '  ut  lighted  uj)  with 
such  intensely  burning  eyes.  No  one  to  know 
it!  A  still,  small  voice,  deep  dovvU  in  his  heart, 
and  silent  for  many  a  year,  rang  out  with  otic 
word,  clccxr  and  distinct.  'A  host  of  memories, 
memories  of  his  almost  forgotten  childhood, 
rushed  back  to  his  mind.  Again  he  felt  his 
mother's  gentle  hand  straying  amid  his  hair;  lier 
soft  voice  whispering,  as  she  passed  from  earth: 
*'Love  and  fear  God,  my  son,  and  meet  me  in 
heaven."  How  reproachfully  her  loving  eyes 
rose  before  him  now.  Again  in  fancy  he  wan- 
dered luind  in  hand  with  Edith,  as  he  had  often 
done  in  childhood,  or  lav  on  the  "-rass  at  her  feet, 
while  she  sang  for  him  the  sweet  "Evening 
Hymn,''  and  he  th«)ughi  the  sky  not  half  so  blue 
and  beautiful  as  her  eyes.  Words  he  had  long 
forgotten   came  again  to  his  mind ;  the  simple, 


rht  Old  House  on  the  Bluff. 


^^h 


tikintsl  prayer  iie  hiid  <<\a  in  l]i<  boyh. .<.il,  ni-ht 
;ii)cJ  nioDiin.L',  ike  s<  nu*  nanderini.;'  sirain  <n'  niu- 
vic  rut>e  U'  liis  lij)*^.  It  '.\as  the  last  stru^^ic  be- 
tween ^und  <x\\\}i  evil  i!i  his  heai't.  Ijis  belter 
nature  seennd  i^^r  a  niomcni.  lo  [irevail.  lie 
Inrned  to  qiiii  the  ofcf  h'ai';^,  when  \\vj  imago  of 
I'red  StanU}'  aro^e  bei"<'re  him.  fhe  >^tni;j:;glc 
^:as  pni^t.  he  slaved.  lUs  L;<i'id  an^'el  cowred 
licr  1  riidit  fa<'e  and  wept,  and  Ralj»h  de  Lisle 
w^'\s  forever  l<^'St. 


■^' 


I '   '. 


■  ^     ,:■»»•   ■    ..   ■.,  ..V 


^J 


\M 


•>   ! 


•'<  1  I-  .  -I 


CHAPTER  XL 

CAUGHT   IN    THE   SNARE. 

"  'Tis  done  I    I  saw  it  in  my  dreams — 
No  more  with  hope  the  future  beams. 

My  days  of  happiness  are  few: 
Chilled  by  Misfortune's  wintry  blast, 
My  dawn  of  life  is  overcast ; 

Love,  hope,  and  joy  alike  adieu; 

Would  I  could  add  remembrance,  tool" 

— Byron. 

Percival  Hall  was  all  aglow  with  light  and 
radiance,  music  and  mirth,  feasting  and  festivity. 
The  loftv  rooms  were  crowded  with  the  numer- 
ons  friends  of  the  family  for  the  last  time,  for 
Llajor  Percival  had  announced  his  intention  of 
departing  for  England  in  a  few  weeks,  to  reside 
there  permanently. 

Weary  with  dancing,  Edith  had  quitted  the 
ballroom  and  sought  refuge  in,  the  conservatory. 
The  gay  sounds  of  music  and  dancing  came  to 
her  ear  softened  and  mellowed  by  the  distance. 

Seating  herself  in  a  shadowy  corner,  she 
leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand,  while  her 
thoughts  wandered  far  away.  She  felt  sad  and 
out  of  spirits  and  in  no  mood  to  join  the  ga}- 
revelers.  She  w^as  about  to  leave  her  home  for 
the  shores  of  ''Merry  England,"  to  leave  many 


^ ,  , 


Caught  in  the  Snare. 


12: 


whom  she  loved  and  who  loved  her,  behind.  She 
thought  of  Fred,  but  no  longer  with  hope.  At 
her  father's  command  they  parted  forever.  Un- 
able longer  to  resist  the  temptation,  he  had  sought 
the  village  and  they  had  one  interview.  The 
major  discovered  it,  and  a  few  hours  before  they 
had  parted  after  an  exceedingly  stormy  inter- 
view, and  she  had  been  sternly  forbidden  ever  to 
see  or  speak  to  him  again. 

Therefore  Edith  sat  sad  and  silent,  with  tears 
slowly  filling  her  deep-blue  eyes,  and  falling  un- 
heeded on  her  white  hands.  Tears  for  him, 
tears  for  herself,  and  a  weight  heavy  and  oppres- 
sive on  her  heart. 

The  entrance  of  a  servant  roused  her  from  licr 
sad  reverie.  The  girl  paused  as  she  approached 
her,  and  Edith  looked  up  inquiringly : 

"If  you  please,  miss,  little  Eddy  Dillon's  out 
here.  He  says  his  sister  Harriet  sent  him  with 
a  message  for  you." 

''Dear  little  Harriet !  I  hope  she  is  not  v\  orse. 
Where  is  he,  Betty?  I  must  see  him  immedi- 
ately," said  Edith,  forgetting  her  own  sorrows 
to  listen  to  those  of  others. 

"Down  here  at  the  hall  door,  miss,"  said  Betty. 
And  Edith  flew  past  her  and  ran  down  to  the 
hall  door  where  stood  little  Edd}^  cap  in  hand. 

"Oil,  Eddy!  How  is  Harriet?"  exclaimed 
Edith,  breathlc^siv. 


128 


Caught,  in  the  Snare. 


A. 


■  k'A^!£ 


"A  great  deal  better — i  mean  worse,  Miss 
Edith,"  said  Eddy;  "d^Mi't  expect  she'll  live  till 
to-morrow,  iiuhovv." 

*'Is  it  possible?  Poor  little  Harriet!  Why 
didn't  you  come  for  me  before?"  said  Edith, 

'"Cause  1  was  busy,"  said  Eddy  scratching  his 
head  as  he  composedly  uttered  the  lie.  *'But  she 
wants  to  see  you  now  if  you're  agreeable." 

"Certainly  I'll  go.  Betty,  bring  me  my  hood 
and  mantle,"  said  Edith  promptly. 

''Oh,  Miss  Edith!  I  vvouldn't  go  to-night  if.  [ 
was  you.  It's  going  to  rain  I'm  afraid,  and  the 
company " 

"Betty,  you  mustn't  talk  so.  Do  you  think 
any  such  selfish  consideration  would  make  me 
refuse  the  dear  child's  dying  request?  Bring 
'  me  my  hood  and  cloak  immediately." 

Betty  disappeared  to  obey  her,  and  turning  to 
Eddy,  Edith  began  inquiring  so  eagerly  about 
this  sudden  dangerous  turn  in  his  sister's  illness, 
that  the  good  youth,  not  having  a  stock  of  lies 
manufactured  for  the  occasion,  got  quite  be- 
wildered. Betty's  reappearance  with  the  desired 
articles  relieved  him  from  his  dilemma,  as  she 
threw  the  cloak  over  Edith's  shoulders  and  tied 
on  her  hood. 

"Hadn't  you  better  let  me  or  one  of  the  others 
go  with  >ou?"  said  Betty.  "Us  powerful  lonc- 
,   *ome  going  alou;;  alone."  '.    , 


Caught  in  the  Snare. 


129 


"No,  thank  you;  I'll  do  very  well.  Eddy  and 
I  have  often  gone  alone  on  the  same  errand  to 
see  poor  Harriet." 

**VVhat  will  I  say  if  any  one  asks  for  yoU;, 
miss?"  called  Betty  after  her. 

"You  may  tell  mamma  where  I  have  gone; 
and  if  any  one  else  asks  you  refer  them  to  her. 
Come,  Eddy,  I  am  all  ready." 

They  went  down  the  steps  together  and  started 
at  a  rapid  walk.  The  clouds  were  slowly  break- 
ing away  and  the  moon  rode  in  silvery  radiance 
through  the  star-studded  dome.  The  cool  night 
breeze  brought  a  bright  flush  to  Edith's  pale 
cheek  and  a  clearer  light  to  her  blue  eyes,  as  she 
tripped  lightly  along  thinking  of  ''dear  little  Har- 
riet," and  almost  envying  her  for  being  freed 
from  earth  so  soon.  Master  Eddy,  too,  was 
thinking — a  very  unusual  thing  for  him  by  the 
way — and  which  never  occurred  save  on  an  un- 
usual occurrence  like  the  present.  He  was  won- 
dering what  the  tall,  dark  man  could  want  with 
her,  and  whether  he  had  acted  quite  right  in  de- 
ceiving her  as  he  had  done.  Unable  to  solve  this 
knotty  problem,  he  placed  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
where  it  encountered  and  closed  upon  a  guinea, 
which,  in  a  wonderfully  short  space  of  time  re- 
moved all  his  scruples,  just  as  it  would  those 
of  an  older  person.  The  recollection  of  the  twelve 
he  was  to  get  on  his  return  clinched  thie  argu- 


13- 


Caught  in  the  Snare. 


■i! 


11 


''  m 


ment,  and  Master  Eddy  lifted  his  head  and 
walked  along  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing discharged  his  duty  as  a  man  should.  Hav- 
in.'^-  heard  the  villagers  talk  over  the  story  of 
IMiss  Edith's  rebel  lover,  he  concluded  this  must 
be  he  come  to  hold  a  clandestine  interview  with 
her.  _ 

''Why  are  you  taking  this  roundabout  way?" 
asked  Edith,  as  her.  companion  turned  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  bluff.  'The  other  path  is  much 
shorter." 

"Yes,  I  know  it;  but  the  other  road's  muddy; 
'tain't  so  good  as  this,"  said  Eddy,  rather  at  a 
loss  for  a  suitable  lie.  'This  ain't  much  longer 
either." 

"Oh,  very  well!"  said  Edith;  "only  hurry,  I  am 
so  anxious  to  see  Harriet." 

Both  walked  on  rapidly  and  in  silence  until 
they  reached  the  dark  bluff. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Edith,  as  Eddy 
began  to  ascend. 

**I  left  something  up  in  the  old  barn  I  must 
go  after.  Come  with  me,  I  don't  like  to  go 
alone." 

Unconscious  and  unsuspecting,  Edith  followed 
him  up  the  steep  hillside.  The  bright  moonlight 
shone  full  upon  the  deserted  barn,  and  show  ed 
it  in  all  its  dreary  loneliness. 

"What  a  dismal  place!"   thought   Editli;    '  Ic 


l'-^  ^1 


Caught  in  the  Snore. 


^.U 


[ead   and 
of  hav- 

I.     Hav- 
'  story  of 
[his  inust 
(iew  with 

It  way?" 
the  di- 
is  much 

muddy; 
ner  at  a 
h  longer 

'^y,  I  arn 

ce  until 

as  Eddv 

I  must 
'  to  go 

allowed 
onlight 
5hov^ed 


^ ; .  ic 


looks  wilder  and  drearier  to-night  than  I  ever 
remember  to  have  seen  it  before.  How  ghastly 
those  moldering  walls  look  in  the  cold  moon- 
light !" 

Within  the  shadow  of  those  walls,  how  little 
did  she  dream  that  he  whom  she  dreaded  most  on 
earth  stood  watching  her.  Rapidly  she  followed 
her  young  guide,  whose  steps  were  quickened  by 
the  recollection  of  the  reward  promised  on  his 
return. 

A  tall,  darjc  figure  muffled  in  a  cloak  stepped 
from  within  the  shadow  of  the  doorway,  and 
approached  them.  Something  in  his  height  and 
air  reminded  her  of  Fred,  and  filled  with  the  idea 
that  he  had  again  sought  her  to  bid  her  a  final 
adieu  she  sprang  forward,  exclaiming  breath- 
lessly : 

"Fred!     Fred!     Can  this  be  you?" 

He  raised  his  hand,  and  made  a  motion  for  her 
to  be  silent.  Then,  slipping  the  promised  reward 
into  the  boy's  hand,  he  whispered  sternly: 

"Go!" 

"Oh,  Fred !  This  is  very  rash,"  said  Edith,  as 
the  boy  bounded  down  the  hillside  and  disap- 
peared. "What  would  papa  say  if  he  knew  of 
this?" 

"Hist!"  said  De  Lisle,  disguising  his  voice  in 
a  hurried  whisper;  "come  in  here." 

tie  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  half  bewil- 


i 

m 


[^2 


Caught  in  tJic  Snare. 


dered  by  this  sudden  nioeting,  she  scarcely  real- 
ized his  meaning  until  she  stood  with  him  in  the 
old  deserted  house.  lie  leleased  her  arin  and 
stood  between  her  and  the  door,  his  hat  still  hid- 
ing his  face,  so  tall,  so  still,  so  motionless  that 
he  looked  like  some  dark  statue. 

'Tred,  is  this  you?"  said  Edith,  a  wild  thrill 
of  fear  shooting-  through  her  heart  at  his  strange 
silence.  The  long-  cloak  that  muffled  him  fell 
off,  he  slov.iv  raised  his  hat,,,  and  she  beheld  the 
pale,  fierce  race  and  intensely  burning  eyes  of 
her  dreaded  loe,  Ralph  de  Lisle. 


■^t.i 


/  '■■■■ 


^k-  - 


rcMl- 

|n  the 

and 

\l  hid- 

that 


Ithrill 

fell 
d  the 


CHAPTER  Xll. 

THE   C  A  T  A  S  T  R  0  P  U  E  . 

"Murder  most  foul — as  in  the  best  it  is — 
But  tlvs  most  foul,  strange,  and  unnatural." 

SliAKli^i'EARt:. 

Stunned,  bewildered,  giddy,  the  wild  shriek  of 
mortal  fear  that  quivered  on  the  Hps  of  Edith 
died  away,  as  she  met  those  fierce  dark  eyes  she 
dreaded  most  on  earth  fixed  upon  her  with  such 
a  iicr\,  serpentlike  g'aze. 

She  grew  dizzy  and  gasi)ed  for  breath,  for 
there  was  a  look  more  of  a  demon  than  of  a  maii 
on  the  face  before  her.  Alone  with  him,  in  that 
deserted  house,  too  far  from  the  vnlage  for  her 
cries  to  reach  human  ears,  nothing  but  Heaven 
could  save  her  now.  All  the  dangers  of  her  ap- 
palling situation  burst  upon  her  at  once.  A  dim- 
ness stole  over  her  eyes,  the  sound  of  many 
waters  was  in  her  ears,  her  heart  throbbed  like 
the  muffled  beating  of  a  drum,  and  she  would 
have  fallen  had  she  not  grasped  the  wall  for 
support. 

"I  see  you  have  not  forgotten  me,  Edith."  were 
his  first  words,  spoken  with  C(~»ld  sarcasm. 
**Wlie,n  last  we  parted  }-ou  had  decidcdl)'  the  ad- 
vantai-'c  of  me,  now  the  tables  have  turned,  and 
Edith  Perciv.'il  is  a^ain  in  my  power." 


134 


The  Catastrophe. 


She  strove  to  speak,  but  though  her  Hps 
moved,  she  could  not  articulate  a  word. 

"You  mistook  me  for  Fred,"  he  went  on  in 
the  same  mocking  tone;  '* 'tis  a  wondrous  pity 
you  were  disappointed.  You  need  never  call  on 
him  again.  This  night  is  the  crisis  of  both  our 
lives.  For  what  purpose  do  you  think  I  have 
had  you  brought  here  ?" 

"I  know  not,"  said  Edith,  speakir.g  in  a  voice 
yet  faint  from  terror. 

"Listen  then:  this  night  you  must  either  con- 
sent to  be  my  bride,  or  you  will  never  live  to  see 
the  sun  rise  again!" 

His  face  wore  the  look  of  a  fiend,  his  glitter- 
ing eyes*  were  fixed  on  !ier  face;  his  voice 
sounded  low,  hoarse,  and  unnatural  in  that 
dreary  room. 

Her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  dilated  with  horror, 
her  face  was  deadly  white,  but  no  cry  escaped 
her.  Her  very  heart  seemed  for  a  moment  to 
stand  still  at  his  appalling  words,  and  then — the 
courage  that  had  never  been  hers  was  granted 
her  in  that  dreadful  moment.  In  her  awful  peril, 
fear  and  horror  alike  passed  away,  and  a  feeling 
of  intense  loathing  and  lofty  scorn  for  him  who 
stood  before  her  took  its  place.  Drawing  herself 
up  to  her  full  hei.^ht,  and  fixing  her  large  blue 
eyes  full  on  his  face,  she  said,  in  a  voice  whose 
very  calmness  startled  even  herself: 


The  Catastrophe. 


135 


-r    lips 

on  in 
IS  pity 
|call  on 
)th  our 
|l  have 

a  voice 

?r  con- 
to  see 

glitter- 
voice 
n    that 

lorror, 
scaped 
!ent  to 
1— the 
ranted 
!  peril, 
eeling 
1  who 
erself 
i  blue 
vhose 


•'3,Iy  life  you  may  take,  for  it  is  in  your  power; 
but  I  would  die  a  thousand  deaths  sooner  than 
be  bride  or  ou^^ht  of  tliinci" 

Her  fearless  words  and  undaunted  manner 
were  so  unexpected  that  he  started  back  apace, 
and  stood  regarding  her  in  silent  wond*^r.  It 
was  but  for  a  moment,  and  the  fiend  within  his 
heart  was  aroused  into  fury  tenfold  greater  than 
before. 

"And  you  dare  defy  me  thus!"  he  said,  set- 
ting  his  teeth  hard  together.  ''Beware!  Your 
life  hangs  but  by  a  thread." 

"I  know  it;  but  death  is  preferable  to  being 
the  wife  cf  a  demon  incarnate  such  as  you!" 

His  face  grew  livid  with  diabolical  passion, 
and  he  grasped  her  by  the  arm  so  fiercely  that 
she  could  scarcely  repfv-^.ss  a  cry  of  pain. 

''Consent  to  be  my  wife,  or  by  all  the  fiends  in 
flames  this  shall  enter  your  heart!"  he  said,  as 
he  brandished  the  gleaming  dagger  before  her 
eyes, 

"Ralph  de  Lisle,  lay  not  the  weight  of  this 
dreadful  crime  on  your  soul,  I  conjure  you !"  ex- 
claimed Edith,  laying  her  small  w^hite  hand  on  his 
arm  and  looking  up  in  his  face  wath  her  earnest 
eyes ;  '*by  the  memory  of  the  past,  when  you  were 
young  and  guiltless,  I  implore  you  to  spare  niy  * 
life!     Think  of  the  remorse  you  will  endure  for 


.1 


i;.6 


The'  Cataslroph^. 


this  awful  crime  in  days  to  come.  Oh,  Ralj)!!, 
Ralph,  by  the  love  you  bore  for  me  once,  com- 
mit not  the  fearful  sin!  Think  of  the  eternal 
woe  pronounced  against  the  murderer  hereafter, 
and  have  mercy  upon  yourself" 

The  thrilling,  the  intense  solemnity  of  her  tone 
awed  even  his  heart  of  stone.  Like  some  wan- 
dering strain  of  music  it  broke  ui)on  his  ear,  and 
for  a  moment  he  i)aused,  appalled  at  the  magni- 
tude of  the  crime  he  was  about  to  commit.  But 
his  evil  mentor  whispered  in  his  ear:  *Tt  is  too 
late  to  retreat,'*  and  the  chord  she  had  touched 
no  longer  vibrated. 

**You   prate   in   vain!"   he   exclaimed;    "once 
again  I  ask  you,  will  you  be  my  wife?" 
''Never — never!" 

He  paused,  as  if  to  work  his  feelings  up  to 
the  most  intense  pitch  of  maddening  excitement. 
His  whole  frame  quivered  and  his  ghastly  face 
was  convulsed  by  rage. 

*'For  the  last  time  I  ask  you,  Edith  Perci- 
val,"  he  said  in  a  voice  hoarse  and  choked,  ''will 
you  marry  me  or  die?" 

''I  will  die !" 

Her  words  fell  clear  and  distinct  in  the  deep 
silence  of  the  lonely  night.  Foaming  with  rage 
he  drew  the  slender,  glittering  knife,,  and  jplung'^  1 
it  up  to  the  hilt  in  her  side ! 


ful 


i<alj)I], 

:e,  coni- 

eternal 

-reafter, 

er  tone 

le  wan- 

ar,  and 

magni- 

it.     But 

t  is  too 

touched 

'once 


The  Catastro/^hi 


^37 


s  up  to 
iteinent. 
:Iy  face 

Perci- 
i  "will 


e  deep 
h  rage 
lung*  1 


The  hot  blood  spurted  up  in  his  face.  With 
one  wild  cry  of  mortal  agony  she  fell  to  the 
ground. 

Dc  Lisle  stood  above  her,  ghastly  and  paralyzed 
by  the  awful  deed.  VV^ith  one  last  eflori,  she 
i<.»se  on  her  elbow,  fixed  her  dying  eyes  on  his 
face  and  drew  out  the  dagger.     A   torrent  of 


!>lood  flowed  over  her  snowy  hands,  and  d\cd 
Nvilh  crimson  the  floor  around.  Her  white  lips 
[)ailcd,  but  no  sound  came  forth,  her  eyes  grew 
gin  zed  and  sightless,  and  she  fell  back,  stiff  and 
cold  and  lifeless. 

And  there,  in  the  light  of  the  solemn  stars,  in 
the  lonely  silence  of  the  night,  the  fearful  tragedy 
had  been  enacted.  The  cold  glare  of  the  moon- 
light streaming  through  the  broken  casement  fell 
softly  and  pityingly  on  tVa  still  form  that  lay  on 
the  ground.  The  goJiden  hair  fell  over  her  face, 
but  the  wild,  despairing  eyes  seemed  still  fixed 
on  the  face  of  her  murderer,  as  he  stood  like  one 
turned  to  stone  above  her.  Her  white  festal  gar- 
m.ents  were  red  with  blood,  and  one  little  hand 
sfiil  held  the  dagger,  dyed  with  the  same  dread- 
fid  hue. 

Do  Lisle  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  feeling  as 
tfioueht  he  neither  lived  nor  breathed.  Everv- 
thluir  danced  red  and  fierv  before  his  eves,  hl.<> 
biain    and    heart    seemed    rending    in    twain. 


r 
1 


> 


138 


The  Cahutrophe. 


Heaven  of  heavens!     How  those  dyfm;,  despair 
ing  eyes  seemed  glaring  upon  him! 

Maddened,  frenzied,  crazed,  he  tuiiicd  to  rush 
from  the  building.  His  foot  struck  against 
something  and  he  stumbled.  He  glanced  down, 
and  saw  it  was  the  fatal  dagger.  With  a  fear- 
ful oath  he  hurled  it  over  the  craggy  bluff,  and 
lied  out  into  the  open  air. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  pressed  his  hands 
heavily  to  his  burning  temples  that  throbbed 
madly  beneath  his  fingers.  His  eyes  were  like 
burning  coals,  his  lips  were  hot  and  parched,  and 
his  hands  trembled  as  though  he  were  stricken 
with  the  palsy.  The  night  wind  seemed  to  shriek 
in  his  ear,  "Murderer.^'  Ringing — ringing 
through  heart  and  brain  was  that  last  dying  cry, 
until  he  stopped  his  ears  in  agonized  horror. 

In  all  that  tempest  of  remorse  and  terror  arose 
before  him  the  oft-spoken  words,  "What  next?" 

What  should  he  do?  Whither  should  he  go? 
His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  from  that  dread- 
ful spot,  and  fly — fly  far  from  the  world,  far 
from  his  fellow  men,  and  far  from  himself. 
One  other  idea  filled  his  mind :  it  was  to  destroy 
the  evidence  of  his  crime,  to  burn  the  old  house 
and  what  it  contained.  He  could  not  endure  to 
see  it  standing  there,  so  dark  and  ghastly,  seem- 
ing to  mock  him  in  his  agony  of  remorse.    There 


The  Catastrophe. 


139 


cspair- 

[o  rush 

igaiiist 

dfnvn, 

|i  fear- 

F*,  and 

hands 
robbed 
"c  like 
d,  and 
ricken 
shriek 
Jnging 
ig  cr}', 
or. 

arose 
lext?" 

e  go? 

[read- 

[,  far 

nselfj 

strov 

loiise 

re  to 

eem- 

'here 


was  a  pile  of  loose  brushwood  near.     He  set  it 
on  fire,  and  paused  to  gaze,  as 

"fierce  and  high 


The  death-pile  blazed  unto  the  >ky." 

How  red  and  fiery  the  flames  looked?  Were 
they,  too,  tinged  with  blood. 

He  knew  the  |  uice  would  soon  be  surrounded, 
and  he  dare  not  pause  to  see  his  dreadful  work 
accomplished.  Like  one  pursued  by  a  demon  he 
fled,  and  paused  not  until  he  had  gained  the  vil- 
lage. There  was  no  one  astir;  all  were  buried 
in  peaceful  repose,  unconscious  of  the  awful 
crime  that  had  just  been  committed.  How  the 
murderer  envied  them  as  he  flew  past. 

He  paused  not  until  he  had  gained  his  own 
room  and  locked  himself  in.  A  flask  of  brandy 
stood  on  the  table.  Glass  after  glass  of  the  fiery 
liquid  he  drained,  to  drown  recollection;  but  all 
in  vain,  all  in  vain!  Those  dying  eyes — that  de- 
spairing cry — that  last  imploring  gaze,  were  be- 
fore him  still ;  and  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room 
like  a  maniac,  not  daring  to  pause  one  moment 
in  his  rapid  walk. 

"Fire!     Fire!" 

The  cry  ran  through  the  streets,  and  roused 
him  into  action.  All  was  bustle  and  confusion. 
KTen  were  rushing  through  the  streets  toward 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy.     He  could  not  endure 


4 


140 


The  Catastrophe. 


■I'! 


thi:-  dreadful  inaction  longer.  Opening  the  dour 
be  left  the  inn,  and  mingling  with  the  crowd 
rushed  toward  the  burning  house. 

Amid  all  that  crowd  no  one  strove  so  zealously 
to  extinguish  the  flames  as  he.  In  the  wild  ex- 
citement there  was  no  time  to  think,  aiid  be 
worked  as  though  his  very  life  L-e])ended  on  it. 
All  their  efforts  were,  however,  vain;  higher  and 
higher  rose  the  flames,  rearing  their  heads,  red 
and  fiery,  into  heaven,  until  De  Lisle  almost 
fancied  they  were  crying  for  \  engeance  on  him. 

Suddenly  a  bright  sheet  of  flame  shot  into  the 
cloudless  sky — the  next  moment  there  was  a  lond 
crash,  as  the  whole  building  fell,  a  mass  of  tiery 
ruins,  to  the  ground. 

De  Lisle  felt  as  though  the  sight  was  leaving 
his  eyes,  as  he  witnessed  that  last  act  in  the  fear- 
ful tragedy  of  the  night.  The  people,  wondering 
how  the  fire  could  have  originated,  were  hurr\- 
ing  to  their  homes.  He  dared  not  venture  to  go 
with  them;  for  in  his  excitement  he  fancied  every 
one  could  read  "murderer"  in  his  face.  Tie  lunud 
and  plunged  into  the  dark  pine  woods,  scarcely 
knowing  whither  he  went,  only  striving  to  escaj/e 
from  himself  and  his  haunting  remorse.  He 
could  hear  that  cry  as  the  wind  wailed  like  a 
lost  spirit  through  the  trees,  he  could  sec  those 
iniploring  eyes  still  before  him,  wherever  he. 
went.     He  put  his   hand  over  his  eves  to  shut 


The  Catastrophe. 


141 


^iic  duur 
cruud 

Wild  ex- 
ajid  he 

\d  vn  it, 

'Mr  ai]d 

ids,  red 
a  lines  t 

on  him. 

into  the 
-s  a  loud 

of  fiery 

leaving 
^le  fear- 
nderini'" 

]uirn- 
'e  tu  i>-o 
cl  evei-y 

Uirrud 

careely 

cscai^e 

^.     He 

like  a 

those 
er  ho 
)  shut 


them  out,  but  all  in  vain,  they  were  still  before 
him,  so  mournful,  su  beseeching,  so  sadly  re- 
prove hful. 

"Oh,  that  this  night  were  over!"  he  said,  wip- 
ing the  perspiration  from  his  heated  brow. 
"What  have  1  done  that  I  should  be  tortured 
thus?  Oh,  for  the  waters  of  Lethe,  to  drown 
maddening  memory !  Shall  I  never  again  know 
peace — can  I  never  escape  from  myself?" 

Through  the  dim  woods  he  paced  until  morn- 
ing. The  red  sunlight  gilded  with  golden  glory 
the  green  tree  tops,  and  the  murderer  shrank 
from  its  bright  gaze  like  the  guilty  thing  that 
he  was.  He  hurried  to  his  rooms,  drained  glass 
after  glass  of  brandy,  and  then  flung  himself  on 
his  bed  to  lose  the  recollection  of  what  he  had 
done  in  feverish  sleep. 


IS. 

Id 


3 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

NEXT    MORNING. 

"And  over  all  there  hung  a  baleful  gloom — 
The  step  stole  fearful  through  each  shadowy  room. 
Dark,  sumptuous,  solemn  as  some  Eastern  pile 
Where  mutes  keep  watch — a,  home  without  a  smile.** 

BULWER. 

The  red  light  of  coming  morn  dispersed  the 
revelers  from  Percival  Hall.  One  by  one  they 
departed,  until  where  lately  all  was  music  and 
mirth  profound  silence  reigned. 

And  father  and  mother,  brother  and  sister,  all 
slept,  little  dreaming  of  the  fate  of  her  they 
loved.  During  the  night,  when  the  gay  hours 
flitted  by  on  ''rosy  wings,"  no  presentiment  of 
what  was  passing  in  the  lonely  house  on  the  bluff 
arose  before  them  to  mar  their  festivity.  And 
now,  all  unconscious  of  her  absence  or  her  dread- 
ful fate,  they  slept  peacefully. 

''Where  is  Edith?"  asked  Major  Percival,  as 
the  family  assembled  a  few  hours  after  around 
the  breakfast  table. 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  replied  Nell,  to  whom 
the  question  was  addressed;  "I  haven't  seen  her 
since  early  last  night." 

"She  was  not  among  the  dancers  during  the 
morning."  remarked  Gus;  "I  missed  her  and 
heard  several  wondering  at  her  absence." 


Next  Morning. 


143 


|WER. 

d  the 
J  they 
c  and 

^r,  all 

they 

hours 

nt  of 

bluff 

And 

read- 

1,  as 
)und 

^om 
her 

the 
md 


''Strange/*  said  the  major,  frowning  slightly. 
"What  must  our  guests  have  thought?  Edith 
has  acted  very  strangely  of  late." 

'Terhaps  she  is  ill,"  said  Mrs.  Percival  anx- 
iously. "Tell  one  of  the  servants,  Ellen,  to  go 
up  to  her  room  and  see." 

'I'll  go  myself,"  said  Nell,  rising  and  hur- 
riedly leaving  the  room. 

In  a  few  moments  she  reappeared,  and  with 
a  look  of  alarm  announced  that  Edith  was  not 
in  her  room  and  that  her  bed  had  not  been  slept 
in  at  all  that  night. 

"Where  can  she  be?"  said  Mrs.  Percival,  now 
thoroughly  alarmed.  "Something  must  have 
happened." 

"Ring  the  bell  and  see  if  any  of  the  servants 
know,"  said  the  major,  more  angry  than  fright- 
ened. 

Nell  obeyed,  and  in  a  moment  Betty  made  her 
appearance. 

"Have  you  seen  Miss  Edith  this  morning?" 
demanded  her  master  as  she  entered. 

"This  morning?    No,  sir." 

"Do  you  know  where  she  is?"  said  the  major, 
for  the  first  time  beginning  to  feel  slightly 
alarmed. 

"Yes,  sir;  little  Eddy  Dillon  came  here  for  her 
last  night,  saying  his  sister  Harriet  was  dying 


td 


144 


Next  Monitng. 


V! 


and  wished  to  see  lier.     Slie  went  with  him,  and 
bade  me  tell  you,  ma'am,  but  1  found  no  chance." 

*'0b,  then  she's  sale  enough,  1  suppose,"  said 
the  major,  while  Mrs.  Percival  drew  a  long- 
breath,  as  though  relieved. 

At  this  moment  Nugent  sauntered  carelessly 
in. 

*'Well,  i^ood  folks,  have  you  heard  the  news?" 
he  asked,  throwing  himself  indolently  on  a 
lounge. 

"No,  what  news?"  said  Nell. 

"Why,  the  old  barn  on  the  bluff  was  burned 
down  last  night,"  said  Nugent. 

"Burned  down!  It  must  have  been  the  work 
of  an  incendiary  then,"  said  his  father. 

''Doubtless  it  was,  though  I  cannot  see  what 
could  have  been  the  object  for  which  it  was 
done,"  replied  his  son. ' 

**Some  mischievously  inclined  person,  who 
wished  to  rouse  the  villagers,"  suggested  Gus. 

"Very  likely:  'twas  fit  for  nothing  but  a  bon-, 
fire.     Where's  Edith?" 

"At  the  Widow  Dillon's." 

"The  Widow  Dillon's!  Why.  she  hasn't  been 
there  since  yesterday  morning." 

"W<hat!" 

"She  has  not  been  there  since  yesterday  morii- 
ing,"  said  Nugent  decidedly;  "I  was  going  past 
there  about  half  an  hour  ago,  and  Mrs.   Dillon 


■3 


Ne.vt  Morning. 


M5 


h  and 

luce." 

said 

long- 

lessly 


called  me  in  to  see  her  little  girl.  Harriet  begged 
me  to  tell  Edith  to  come  to  her  immediately,  and 
Mrs.  Dillon  said  she  had  been  longing  for  her 
since  she  had  been  there  yesterday  morning." 

''What  can  be  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  said 
the  major,  rising  hurriedly,  while  Mrs.  Percival 
grew  pale  with  terror.  "Her  son  came  here  for 
Edith  last  night  and  they  both  departed  to- 
gether." 

"She  must  have  left  him  then,  sir,"  said 
Nugent,  "for  she  certainly  did  not  accompany 
him  home.  He  was  in  the  cottage  while  I  was 
there,  and  inade  no  mention  of  her  having  started 
with  him;  neither  did  the  widow  allude  to  her 
having  sent  for  Edith  at  all.  And  now  I  re- 
collect, she  said  she  would  have  sent  for  her  last 
night,  but  on  account  of  the  ball  she  thought  she 
would  not  trouble  her." 

**0h,  Major  Percival,  something  dreadful  has 
happened,"  said  Mrs.  Percival,  rising  in  great 
agitation.  '1  feel  it!  I  know  it!  She  has 
been  carried  off  again  and  we  shall  never  see 
her  more!" 

"Nonsense,  Mrs.  Percival !  She  is  doubtless 
somewhere  in  the  village,"  said  the  major,  con- 
cealing his  own  alarm.  "I  will  go  in  search  of 
her."  ,    . 

"Let  me  accompany  you,"  said  Nue-ent,  spring- 


14.6 


Next  Morning. 


\ng 


up ;  for  the  many  dangers  Edith  had  recently 
escaped  made  them  doubly  anxious. 

Both  quitted  the  house  together  and  walked 
rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

''I  fear  there  may  be  danger,  father,"  said 
Nugent  uneasily;  ''the  whole  affair  seems  rather 
mysterious.'* 

''Heaven  forbid!''  said  his  father  hurriedly; 
"but  we  must  see  this  boy  with  whom  she  de- 
parted, and  learn  from  him  what  has  happened." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  reached 
the  widow's  humble  cottage.  Mrs.  Dillon  met 
them  in  the  doorway,  looked  alarmed  and  ex- 
cited. 

"Oh,  Major  Percival,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you! 
Just  look  here,"  and  the  widow  displayed  a  purse 
filled  with  bright  gold  guineas. 

**Why,  Mrs.  Dillon,  what  piece  of  good  fortune 
is  this  you  have  met  with?  You  haven't  robbed 
a  bank,  I  hope,"  said  young  Percival. 

"No,  indeed,  Mr.  Nugent,"  said  the  widow 
anxiously.  '"Twas  he  broiight  this  home." 
And  she  pointed  to  where  sat  her  hopeful  sou 
and  heir,  with  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  looking 
doggedly  on  the  ground. 

"Eddy;  why,  man  alive,  where  did  you  get  all 
this  money?"  said  Nugent,  giving  him  a  shake. 
*'Look  up,  sir.     Have  you  turned  highwayman?" 

The  boy  sat  in  sulky  silence. 


•^  t 


Av\;7  ^■!o^.:.7>J. 


1.," 


V 


eceniiy 
walked 


>» 


said 
rather 

riedly; 

he  de- 
>ened." 
cached 
)n  met 
id  ex- 

e  you! 
purse 

)rtune 
obbed 

vidow 
3nie 
1  son 
'yking 

stall 
lake, 
an?" 


>> 


<<i '. 


a- 


<<i 


'I'm  terribly  aieared  he  stole  it,"  said  the 
widow,  in  evident  distress;  "he  won't  tell  where 
he  got  it,  and  I  know  he  never  came  honestly  by 
it." 

"This  is  serious,'*  said  the  major,  and  must  be 
seen  to.  *'See  here,  my  fme  fellow,"  he  said 
sternly,  ''where  did  you  get  this  money?  Have 
you  stolen  it?" 

'No,  I  didn't  steal  it,"  said  the  boy  sullenly. 

'Where  did  you  get  it  then?  Answer  me,  or 
I'll  have  you  committed  to  prison,"  said  th^  major 
with  increasing  sternness  in  order  to  intimidate 
him. 

Eddy  looked  up,  and  seeing  the  inflexible  look 
on  the  face  bending  over  him,  burst  into  tears. 

''Come,  my  little  man,  don't  cry,"  said  Nugent, 
patting  him  on  the  head ;  "tell  the  truth  and  noth- 
ing shall  be  done  to  you.  Where  did  you  get 
it?" 

'The  man  gave  it  to  me,"  sobbed  Eddy. 

"What  man?"  inquired  Percival. 

"The  man  wot  told  me  to  bring  Miss  Edith  to 
the  bluff  last  night." 

"What !"  exclaimed  the  major,  catching  him  so 
fiercely  by  the  arm  that  the  boy  uttered  a  cry 
of  pain. 

"Father,  be  calm,"  said  Nugent,  though  his 
own  face  grew  deadly  pale,  "we  must  hear  all  the 
particulars,  and  if  you  frighten  him  so  he  will 


1^9 


s. 
bd 


g 


f 


1 


148 


Next  Morrnn{]i. 


tiot  speak.  Begin  now  at  the  iirst,  l£ddy.  V\  ho 
was  this  man?" 

"1  dcMi't  know,  he  didn'i  tell  mc  his  name," 
replied  Eddy. 

"Can  you  desciibc  him?  What  did  he  look 
like?" 

"lie  wa:>  tall  and  dark,  with  black  hair  and 
whiskers,  and  wore  a  long  black  cloak.  I 
couldn't  see  his  face  'cause  his  hat  was  pulled 
away  down." 

"When  did  you  meet  him  first?" 

"Ves'day  evening.  He  asked  me  if  Miss 
Edith  didn't  visit  Harriet,  an'  1  said  yes;  and 
then  he  told  me  to  meet  him  on  the  bluff  ai  nine 
o'clock,  and  that  he  would  pay  me  well." 

"Did  you  go?"  asked  Nugent,  growing  more 
and  more  excited. 

"Ves,  I  went  and  waited  for  him  in  the  old 
barn.  He  came  and  told  me  to  go  up  to  the  Hall, 
and  say  Harriet  wanted  2\liss  Edith — and  then 
bring  her  to  him  and  he'd  pay  me — 1 " 

The  boy  paused,  and  glanced  in  terror  at  the 
agitated  face  of  the  major. 

"Go  on."  said  Nugent  hoarsely. 

**rm  afraid,"  said  the  boy,  again  beginnmg  to 
cry. 

'Go  on,  go  on,  go  on!"  said  the  younger  man 
ii^patiently;  ''no  one  shall  touch  you.  Did  you 
obey?" 


A''^.i:/  Morning. 


I4;> 


'Wes.  1  went  up  lo  the  ball  and  Miss  Edith  • 
came  with  me.  She  ran  forward  when  she  saw 
the  man,  and  called  him  l^-ed,  and  he  gave  me 
this  money  and  told  me  to  go,  and  as  I  ran  down 
hill,  I  heard  her  sa\  :  'Oh,  Fred,  this  is  very 
rash!'  and  then  she  went  with  him  into  the  old. 
house." 

Father  and  son  gazed  into  eaeh  other's  faces, 
pale  with  undelined  terror. 

"Well,  what  else?"  said  Nugent,  almost  giddy 
with  strange  apprehension. 

"Then  1  come  home,"  went  on  the  boy  reluc- 
tantly; "but  1  wanted  to  hear  who  he  was,  and 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  So  1  came  back  and 
stood  where  I  could  see  them  without  thev  see- 
ing  me.  I  couldn't  see  his  face  'cause  he  had 
his  back  turned,  but  I  could  hear  them  talking. 
Fie  asked  her  to  go  ^^  ith  him  and  marry  him,  or 
something,    and    she    said    she    wouldn't,    and 

then ".     Again  the  boy  paused,  and  covered 

his  face  w  ith  a  shudder. 

"Well,  and  then,"  said  Nugent,  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  husky  and  unnatin*al. 

"He  got  aw^fully  angry,  and  took  out  a  long 
knife;  and  Fgot  frightened  and  ran  away,"  said 
the  boy,  trembling  at  the  recollection. 

Nugent  pau:,ed  for  a  moment  to  master  the 
emotions  that  threatened  to  unman  him.  Then, 
witli  an  cfTrni  at  calmness,  be  said: 


1:.^ 


Ncvl  Morning. 


''And  what  followed  next?' 

"I  went  home  and  went  into  bed,"  continued 
Eddy,  "until  1  heard  them  singing  out  'hre,'  and 
then  I  got  up  and  went  to  the  bluff,  and  the  barn 
was  burning.  1  saw  the  man  in  the  erowd  but 
I  was  afraid  to  speak  to  him,  he  seemed  so  wild- 
Hke.  When  the  barn  was  all  burned  down  the 
people  went  away,  and  I  saw  him  go  off  into  the 
woods,  and  that's  all  I  know." 

'^Merciful  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Nugent,  reel- 
ing back  as  though  stunned  by  a  heavy  blow-, 
"Edith  is  murdered!" 

"And  Fred  Stanley  is  her  murderer,"  said  the 
major,  in  a  voice  so  deep  and  unearthly  that  it 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  jaws  of  death. 

"It  cannot  be !  It  cannot  be !  It  is  monstrous ! 
Impossible!  Absurd!"  exclaimed  Nugent,  in 
wild  excitement.  "Fred  Stanley  could  never  be 
an  assassin!" 

"I  tell  you  he  has  murdered  her,"  said  his 
father,  in  a  tone  of  concentrated  fierceness;  "and 
by  the  heaven  above  us  his  life  shall  pay  for  hers. 
An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  and  a  life 
for  a  life!"  he  cried,  rushing  madly  from  the 
house. 

Nugent  followed,  and  feeling  the  necessity  for 
calmness  and  firmne:^s,  in  the  dreadful  crisis,  he 
laid  his  hand  on  his  arm  and  arrested  his  flying 
steps. 


Ne,vt  Morning. 


151 


JnuccI 
f  and 
Ibani 
(J  1)11 1 
wild- 
thc 
the 


"l^aiher,  father!  Be  cahii,  be  calm  for  Heav^. 
en's  sake!  Think  of  my  mother,  if  she  sees  you 
thus  and  hears  this  news,  the  shock  will  kill  her. 
For  her  sake  compose  yourself  and  be  calm." 

"Calm,  sir!  Dare  you  talk  of  calmness  when 
my  daughter  has  been  foully  assassinated?  Oh, 
Edith!  My  child,  my  child!  I  will  not  think  of 
mourning  for  thee  until  I  have  had  vengeance  on 
thy  murderer!" 

"Father,  it  is  impossible  that  Fred  Stanley  has 
been  guilty  of  this  dreadful  deed.  I  will  never 
believe  it!"  cried  Percival  excitedly.  ''A  nobler 
heart  never  beat  within  the  breast  of  man  than 
his." 

"Who  else  is  there  to  have  done  such  an  act?" 
said  the  major  passionately;  "did  we  not  part  in 
anger  a  few  hours  before?  I  tell  you  there  was 
murder  in  his  flashing  eyes  as  I  watched  him 
ride  away.  You  heard  how  it  occurred.  He 
urged  her  to  fly  with  him.  She,  dreading  my 
an<j;er,  refused,  and  no  doubt  maddened  by  her 
resistance  he  slew  her  on  the  spot.  Oh,  my 
daughter,  my  daughter,  why  was  I  not  near  to 
save  you  from  so  dreadful  a  fate!" 

He  wrung  his  hands  and  groaned  aloud  in  bit- 
ter anguish. 

"But  the  villain  shall  meet  his  ^oom,"  he  again 
exclaimed,  with  the  old  fierceness  flashing  in  his 
eyes;  "this  very  day  shall  he  be  arrested!" 


119 
I's. 

g 

I 

I. 


152 


A^(M7  Mornim). 


They  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  reached 
the  foot  of  the  bluff. 

"Let  us  visit  the  scene  of  the  tra.^edy,"  said 
Nugent,  as  they  paused  for  a  moment  to  con- 
template the  heap  of  black,  smokin!L>-  ruins. 

They  turned  to  ascend.  Scarcely  had  they  gone 
a  dozen  steps,  when  the  major's  eye  fell  on  some- 
thing bright  gleaming  among  the  rocks,  lie 
stooped  to  pick  it  up  and  started  back  with  a  cry 
of  horror. 

It  was  the  fatal  dagger,  red  with  still  undried 
blood.  As  he  turned  it  over,  his  eye  fell  on  the 
name  engraven  on  the  handle — Frederic  Stan- 
ley. 

/'Just  Heaven,  how  wonderful  is  thy  retribu- 
tion!" he  exclaimed,  as  he  handed  the  knife  to 
his  son.  "With  this  fatal  blade  the  deed  was 
done,  and  the  murderer's  name  is  on  it.  In  the 
excitement  of  the  moment  he  has  cast  it  away 
and  forgot  it." 

Pale  with  horror  Nugent  examined  it.  Tie 
had  often  seen  the  dagger  with  Fred.  It  had  been 
given  him  by  his  father  in  his  boyhood  and  was 
prized  as  his  gift.  To  doubt  his  guilt  longer 
seemed  out  of  the  question,  and  yet  how  could 
he  believe  him  guilty?  Fred  Stanley,  so  brave, 
so  generous,  si;i  noble-hearted,  guilty  of  so  dread- 
ful a  crime.  Oh,  never,  never!  The  thought 
Vi^as  too  jjni?att!jral  to  be  entertained. 


Mtwt  Morninjj. 


i5J 


laclicd 

said 
con- 

gonc 

llc 

I  a  cry 

dried 

n  the 

IStan- 

ribu- 
fe  1(1 

was 
n  the 
iway 

He 
been 
was 
igcr 
xild 
ave, 
^ad- 
ght 


They  st(M)d  at  lciii;th,  gaziiio'  with  I'cehn^.^  im- 
possible to  dcscril)c  on  the  smoldering  remains  of 
the  fire.  There  lulith  had  been  slain  and  her 
body  had  perished  amid  tlie  llames. 

It  was  with  very  did'erent  feelings  they  stood 
j^azinj^-  upon  the  charred  and  sniokint;-  ruins.  In 
Major  PerciN'al's  1)reasl,  above  every  other  icel- 
ing,  was  the  fierce,  burning  desire  for  vengeance, 
lie  could  scarcely  think  of  sorrow,  so  intence  was 
his  desire  for  revenge;  it  seemed  an  injustice  to 
her  memory  to  allow  her  murderer  one  moment 
longer  to  burden  the  earth.  Hanging  seemed  a 
thousand  times  too  good  for  him,  and  he  would 
have  given  worlds  to  see  him  broken  on  the 
wheel,  tortured  on  the  rack,  or  roasted  at  a  slow 
nre  for  the  crime  he  had  committed. 

In  Nugent's  heart,  horror  for  his  sister's 
dreadful  fate,  a  feeling  of  remorse  that  he  had 
nr>t  l)een  near  to  save  her,  were  mingled  with 
agonizing  doubts,  whether  or  not~to  believe  I'red 
Stanley  guilty.  One  moment,  he  almost  hated 
himself  for  believing  him  capable  of  such  an  ac- 
tion ;  and  then  the  startling  train  of  circumstan- 
tial evidence  would  arise  before  him,  until  there 
.Kfemed  no  longer  room  for  the  shadow  of  doubt. 
Amid  all  this  war  of  conflicting  emotions  neither 
of  them  suspected  Ralph  de  Lisle,  whom  they  im- 
agined far  away. 

"Ha,  what  have  we  here?"  exclaiitied  Nugent 


119 
g 

I 


I 


154 


Next  Morning. 


i 


m 


suddenly,  as  a  portioa  of  a  blue  scarf  caught  his 
eye,  lying  under  a  charred  and  broken  stick.  He 
picked  it  up.  Both  recognized  it  as  one  Edith 
had  worn  that  fatal  night.  It  was  of  rich  blue 
silk,  embroidered  with  silver  fringe,  and  now 
more  than  half  burned.  It  was  spotted  with 
blood,  and  near  the  end  was  a  hole,  exactly  such 
as  would  be  made  by  the  dagger. 

"It  is  but  another  proof  of  his  guilt,"  said  the 
major,  in  a  low,  thick  voice.  ''Edith!  Edith! 
But  there  is  no  time  for  mourning!  When  Jus«- 
tice  is  satisfied  there  will  be  time  enough  for 
tears.'' 

His  eyes  were  burning  and  tearless,  his  face 
was  deadly  pale,  but  there  was  a  look  of  fierce 
determination  in  his  face. 

As  they  reentered  the  village,  they  were  met 
by  the  bustling  little  landlord  of  the  inn. 

'Ah,  good  morning.  Major  Percival!  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Nugent!  Fine  day  this;  been  up 
to  the  fire,  I  s'pose ;  queer  thing  that,  queer  thing, 
S'pose  you  haven't  seen  anything  of  a  tall  fellow 
in  a  black  cloak  and  hat  over  his  face,  hey?" 

"What  of  him?"  said  Nugent  with  breathless 
interest. 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing,  only  he  came  here 
late  last  night,  and  ordered  a  room;  then  went 
('Ut  and  didn't  come  in  till  after  midnight.  Two 
o.  three  minutes  after  he  was  off  to  the  fire,  and 


tr; 


Next  Morning. 


155 


It  iiJs 
He 

:ciit]i 

blue 
I  now 

'ith 
Isuch 

the 
!ith! 
IJus- 

for 


since  then  nobody's  seen  him.  Funny  chap! 
Went  off  without  paying  the  reckoning,  and 
drank  nwre  brandy  than  I  Hke  to  think  of.  Good 
morning!"     And  the  landlord  bustled  away. 

Major  Percival  hurried  to  the  nearest  magis- 
trate to  make  a  deposition  of  the  case,  and  ob- 
tain a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Fred  Stanley. 
Nugent,  finding  the  task  of  announcing  the 
dreadful  news  devolved  upon  him,  hastened 
home,  stunned  and  bewildered  like  one  who  walks 
in  a  dream. 

Gently  as  he  broke  the  news  to  them  the  effect 
was  terrible.  Mrs.  Percival  fell  into  violent  con- 
vulsions and  was  carried  to  her  room.  Nell 
grew  deadly  white,  and  such  a  feeling  of  sick- 
ness came  over  her  that  for  a  moment  she  was 
on  the  verge  of  fainting.  But  when  she  heard 
Fred  accused  as  the  murderer  indignation  re- 
stored her  to  herself,  and  she  exclaimed  vehem- 
ently : 

''I'll  never  believe  it — never,  never!  I  would 
as  soon  credit  it,  Nugent,  if  they  said  you  did  it 
yourself.  How  dreadful,  how  dreadful,  to 
thiuk  we  were  all  here,  dancing  and  enjoying 
ourselves,  and  Edith  lying  cold  and  dead  without 
one  friend  near  to  aid  her!  Oh,  Edith,  Edith, 
Edith,  my  dearly-beloved  sister!" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept 
so  hysterically  that  l)oth  Nugent  and  Gus  were 


r- 


V 


:   I 


15<J 


Next  Morniny. 


alarmed.  The  latter  endeavured  to  console  her, 
but  she  pushed  him  away  saying: 

"No,  no,  let  me  alone!  Oh,  Edith,  Editli,  my 
murdered  sister!" 

And  all  through  that  day  she  wandered  about 
the  gloomy  house,  wringing  her  hands  and  re- 
peating that  dear  name,  her  pale  face,  disheveled 
hair  and  disordered  dress  giving  her  the  look  oi 
one  insane.  It  was  a  silent  and  gloomy  man- 
sion indeed.  The  servants,  pale  with  horror, 
stole  about  as  noiselesslv  as  ehosts  throui/h  the 
house,  still  as  the  grave,  save  ^hen  a  wild  shriek 
from  the  darkened  room  of  Mrs.  Percival  would 
reach  their  ears.  And  Nell  wandered  vacantly 
about  twisting  her  fingers  and  repeating,  "Edith, 
Edith!" — seeing  but  one  object :  the  murdered 
form  of  her  sister. 

Through  the  village  the  news  had  spread  like 
wildfire.  Men  were  gathered  in  groups  at  every 
corner,  talking  over  the  tragic  occurrence; 
women  forgot  their  household  affairs  to  speak 
of  the  goodness  of  the  murdered  girl,  and  weep 
over  her  untimely  fate,  for  Edith  was  universally 
beloved.  People  spoke  of  it  in  low  whispers',  f'T 
the  whole  affair  seemed  wrapped  in  myster} . 
Never  had  such  a  thing  !)een  heard  of  before  in 
that  quiet  little  villa.i;e:  and  they  almost  held 
their  breath  as  they  wondered  \\hose  turn  it 
w<mld  be  nrxt. 


K 


|ii9 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE   ARREST. 

"And  yet  he  seems  not  overcome, 
Although  as  yet  his  voice  be  dumb." 

In  the  little  parlor  of  the  "Bottle  and  Bowl"' 
sat  Fred  Stanley.  He  was  stretched  at  hul 
length  on  a  lounge  leisurely  smoking  a  cigar  aiul 
listening  to  the  merry  voice  of  Mrs.  Rosie  Wilde, 
as  she  alternately  scolded  the  servants,  laughed 
with  the  neighbors,  and  talked  to  the  baby.  And 
while  he  indolently  watched  the  blue  smoke 
wTeathing  upward  Fred  was  thinking. 

He  thought  of  Edith  and  w^ondered  if  he 
should  ever  see  her  dear  face  again,  of  her  stern 
father  and  his  invincible  antipathy  to  himself, 
of  his  haled  rival  Ralph  de  Lisle,  of  his  father, 
who  was  on  the  eve  of  departure  for  England, 
and  whom  he  had  never  seen  since  the  night  he 
liberated  him,  of  the  mysterious  hermit,  and 
wondered  what  new  danger  w  as  destined  to  bring, 
them  face  to  face;  and  lastly  of  himself,  as  yet 
undecided  what  to  do  or  whither  to  go. 

The  quick  tramp  of  a  horse's  feet  dashing 
down  the  street  arrested  his  attention.  The 
horseman  drew  up  and  alighted  at  the  inn  door. 
X'red  fancied  his  form  was  familiar;  but  he  sto-  d 


•s. 
i»5d 

i 


158 


The  Arrest. 


undecided,  until  he  heard  the  newcomer  pro- 
nounce his  name  in  hurried  tones.  The  next 
moment  the  door  was  thrown  violently  open,  and 
Gus  Elliott,  pale,  haggard,  dusty,  and  travel- 
worn,  burst  into  the  room. 

''Gus,  my  dear  fellow!  is  it  possible ?"  ex- 
claimed Fred,  springing  up  and  grasping  his 
hand.  *'But,"  he  added,  seeing  his  despairing 
look,  "what  in  the  world  has  happened?" 

Gus  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  face.  He  could  read 
nothing  there  but  frank  astonishment.  Would 
a  guilty  man  act  and  look  thus?  His  doubts,  if 
he  entertained  any,  vanished  in  a  moment;  and 
wringing  the  hand  his  friend  extended,  he  ex- 
claimed: 

"Oh,  Fred!  then  you  have  not  heard?  How 
can  I  tell  you  the  dreadful  -story?" 

"What  dreaful  story?  My  dear  Gus,  sit  down 
and  compose  yourself.     You  look  as  though  you 


were  msane. 


»> 


Do  I?  I  may  well  look  insane.  You,  too, 
will  look  insane  when  you  have  heard  my  story." 

''Then  let  me  hear  it." 

"Oh,  Fred,  my  business  here  is  very  painful — 
painful  in  the  extreme!" 

"Then,  my  dear  Gus,  let  me  advise  you  to  get 
it  over  as  soon  as  possible.  The  longer  you  hesi- 
tate the  worse  it  will  be/*  said  Fred,  resuming  his 
seat  on  the  lounge. 


/ 


The  Arresi. 


159 


r  pro- 
e  next 
m,  and 
travel- 


>'» 


ex- 
ng  his 
pairing- 
Id  read 
Would 
ubts,  if 
nt;  and 
he  ex- 

'     How 

it  down 
igh  you 

3U,  too, 
story 


)' 


linful — 

1  to  get 
ou  hesi- 
ling  his 


(i- 


^<^ 


''Have  you  no  idea  of  what  my  errand  is?  1 
come  from  Percival  Hall." 

''Well?"  said  Fred  inquiringly. 

Gus  paced  silently  up  and  down. 

''Does  it  concern  Edith?"  inquired  Fred,  for 
the  first  time  beginning  to  feel  alarmed. 

"It  does." 

"What  has  happened?  Gus,  has  De  Lisle  car- 
ried her  off  again?" 

'No,  no!     Worse  still!"  groaned  Gus. 
What  mean  you?"  cried  Fred,  springing  up, 
white  with  apprehension.     "Is  she — is  she " 

"Dead!"  said  Gus  solemnly. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Gus  turned  to  the 
window  to  hide  his  agitation.  He  did  not  venture 
to  look  at  his  friend,  whose  labored  breathing 
sounded  unnaturally  loud  in  the  silence  of  the 
room. 

"Where — how — when  did  she  die?"  he  asked 
at  length,  in  a  voice  so  altered  that  Gus  started 
back  in  terror. 

"Fred,  my  dear  friend,  prepare  yourself  for 
the  worst,"  he  said,  scarcely  daring  to  tell  all. 

"The  worst  has  passed.  Edith  is  dead!  Noth- 
ing you  can  say  now  will  affect  me,"  he  answered, 
with  such  unnatural  calmness  that  Fred  almost 
feared  the  blow  had  unsettled  his  reason. 

"Fred,  she  was — murdered!" 

Another    long    pause  followed.     Fred's    face 


fi9 


•s. 


^g 


r- 


'.  iki.- 


i6o 


The  .Irrest. 


had  grown  so  sternly  rigid  that  it  looked  a^ 
though  turned  to  marble. 

''By  whom?"  he  asked. 

''That  is  unknown,"  rej)Iied  Gus,  who  shrank 
with  cowardly  fear  from  telling  him  all. 

''When  was  she — when  did  this  happen?"  said 
Fred,  whose  lips  seemed  unable  to  frame  the 
word. 

'The  night  before  last.  The  news  has  spread 
like  wildfire;  and  I  had  hoped  that  you  had  heard 
it  ere  this,  and  so  spared  me  the  pain  of  bein^^ 
the  first  to  announce  it." 

"Where  is  Ralph  de  Lisle?"  said  Fred,  in  a 
tone  that  plainly  indicated  he  had  little  doubt  who 
was  the  murderer. 

"I  know  not.  Most  probably  on  his  way  to 
England,  or  in  the  far  Southwest.  No  one  sus- 
pects him  of  being  the  murderer." 

''Who  then  can  it  be?  How  could  one  so 
sweet,  so  gentle,  have  enemies?  Was  she  robbed 
as  well  as  murdered?" 

"Her  Ijody  was  not  found,"  said  Gus,  who  ut- 
tered each  word  as  slowly  and  reluctantly  as 
though  it  burned  his  lips.  "You  recollect,  per- 
haps, the  old  barn  on  the  bluff 


?'' 


a 


Yes. 
She 


M 


was  decoyed  there  and  slain.  The  barn 
was  afterward  set  on  fire  and  her  remains  were 
consumed  in  the  flames." 


The  Arrest. 


i6i 


SoiDcthini,^  like  a  groan  escaped  the  lips  of 
Fred.  Sinking  into  a  seal  lie  shaded  his  face 
with  his  hand,  and  for  several  moments  sat  silent 
and  motionless.  Then,  without  raising  his  head 
or  looking  up,  he  said  huskily : 

"Tell  me  the  particulars.     I  would  know  all." 

Sadly  and  reluctantly  Gus  complied,  l^ed  sat 
with  his  hand  still  shading  his  face,  so  cold  and 
still  that  he  seemed  to  be  slowly  petrifying.  Gus 
related  all  save  who  was  the  suspected  murderer, 
his  lips  refused  to  reveal  that. 

''You  see  the  affair  is  wrapped  in  complete 
mystery,"  he  concluded.  "But  no  doubt  the  mur- 
derer will  yet  be  found.  No  exertion  will  be 
spared  to  ferret  him  out.  The  arm  of  divine 
Providence  is  long  enough  to  reach  him  even  to 
the  uttermost  botinds  of  the  earth.'* 

Fred  did  not  speak  or  move.  The  suddennCwSs 
of  the  shock  seemed  to  have  completely  stunned 
him. 

"My  dear  friend,*'  said  Gus,  going  over  and 
laying  his  hand  on  Fred's  shoulder,  "bear  up!  It 
is  a  heavy  blow  and  I  can  sympathize  with  you; 
but  never  despair!  We  all  knew  and  loved 
lildith,  we  all  feel  her  loss,  but  still,  despair  is 
useless.  Bear  up  Fred  and  be  a  man!  I  have 
seen  you  before  now  face  death  at  the  cannon's 
mouth  v./ithout  wincini^',  and  will  you  now  sink 
under  affliction  like  a  timid  <  irl?' 


t!^ 


j" 


1 62 


The  Arrest. 


lM*ed  loolo.d  up  and  disclosed  a  face  so  pale 
and  eyes  -  di'soairing  that  Gus  felt  his  words 
were  worse  than  useless. 

He  went  and  took  a  seat  by  the  window  and 
gazed  out.  Fred  sat  silent  and  motionless. 
And  so  an  hour  passed  before  either  moved  or 
spoke. 

The  sound  of  a  carriage  stopping  before  the 
door  at  length  startled  Gus.  He  looked  up 
eagerly  and  grew  '  shade  paler  as  he  heard  a 
c[uick,  authoritative  voice  inquire  for  "Mr.  Fred- 
eric Stanley." 

"Step  into  the  parlor,  sir,  if  you  please.  He's 
there  with  another  gentleman,"  said  the  cheery 
voice  of  Rosie  Wilde. 

The  door  was  pushed  open,  and,  stern  and  ex- 
cited, the  sheriff  of  the  county,  followed  by  a  con- 
sta1)le,  stood  before  them. 

*'Mr.  Stanley,  I  believe,"  said  the  sheriff, 
bowing  to  Fred,  who  lifted  his  head  and  an- 
swered briefly  in  the  affirmative. 

'Then,  sir,  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of  the 
law,"  said  the  sheriff,  letting  his  hand  fall  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder. 

''Arrest  me!"  exclaimed  Fred,  springing  to  his 
feet,  and  fiercely  shaking  off  the  officer's  hand  as 
though  stung  by  a  viper. 

'Such  is  my  painful  duty,  sir." 

Tn   the   name   of   Heaven,    sir,   upon    what 


iii 


(t^ 


pale 
[words 

|vv  and 
)nless. 
'ed  or 

re  the 
ed  up 
^ard  a 
Fred- 
He's 
cheery 

nd  ex- 

a  con- 

heriff, 
id  an- 

3f  the 
3n  the 

to  his 
md  as 


what 


The  Arrest. 


163 


charge?"  impetuously  exclaimed  i'rcd,  now  thor- 
oughly aroused  into  action. 

''You  are  arrested  upon  charge  of  having  mur- 
dered Edith  Percival." 

Fred  reeled  as  though  suddenly  struck  wA  as 
forced  to  grasp  the  table  for  suppoi  i.  ioy  a 
moment  everything  seemed  swimmirg  around 
him,  then,  conscious  that  the  keen  e^  ^ :  of  the 
official  were  fixed  upon  him,  he  recovered  his 
usual  stately  firmness  and  answered  with  cold 
self-possession : 

"I  am  ready  to  attend  you,  sir.  Gus,  farewell ! 
Do  you  believe  this  charge?" 

''Heaven  forbid,  Fred !"  said  Gus,  in  a  choking 
voice. 

"You  knew  when  you  came  I  was  suspected, 

did  you  not?" 

"Yes,  but  it  was  so  monstrous,  so  absurd,  I 
could  not  tell  you." 

"It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had,  but  it 
matters  not  now=  The  world  no  doubt  believes 
me  guilty,  hut  what  care  I  for  the  world  now? 
Sir,  I  am  quite  ready." 

The  sheriff  bowed,  and  in  his  charge  Fred 
quitted  the  room.  Bidding  adieu  to  Mrs.  Wilde, 
whose  lamentations  were  loud  and  heartfelt,  he 
entered  the  carriage,  which  was  driven  immedi- 
ately toward  the  county  jail. 


219 


ed 


« 


1 

r- 


ifti 


±1 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    TRIAL. 

''And  he  for  hei  had  also  wept, 

Dtit  for  lit^r  the  eyes  that  on  him  gazed, 

His  .sorrow,  if  he  felt  it,  slept, 

Stern  and  erect  his  brow  was  raised ; 

Wate'er  the  grief  his  soul  avowed. 

He  would  not  shrink  before  the  crowd," 

A  fortnight  had  passed  away  since  the  arrest 
of  Fred  Stanley.  The  court  would  sit  in  another 
week,  and  his  trial  was  among-  the  first  in  the 
session. 

in  his  cell  the  prisoner  sat  alone.  His  face 
was  pale  but  firm,  sad  but  composed.  His  long- 
neglected  locks  fell  darkly  over  his  lofty  brow, 
as  ho  sat  watching  a  sunbeam  that  stole  through 
tlie  grated  window.  He  heard  the  key  turn  in 
the  lock;  the  next  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
,Gus  entered. 

Fred  arose  and  extended  his  hand,  saying  with 
a  sad  smile: 

'This  is  indeed  kind,  Gus!  All  the  rest  of 
the  world  seems  to  have  deserted  me  liut  you." 
j  *'They  believe  you  guilty,  Fred;  I  do  not.  I 
would  have  visited  you  befr^re,  but  circumstances 
would  not  permit.  When  does  your  trial  come 
en?" 


The  Trial. 


A<-'5 


"To-morrow  week." 

"You  have  engaged  counsel?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Joice,  one  of  llie  l)e«i  law  vers  in  the 
State." 

"That's  well.  Oh,  there's  no  fear  of  ycur 
acquittal,  Fred.  It  seems  incredible  to  me  h(.)vv 
you  could  ever  have  been  suspected." 

"You  forget  the  circumstantial  evidence." 

"Nothing  but  circumstantial  evidence,  never- 
theless, my  dear  friend.'' 

"True,  but  much  slighter  has  been  found  suffi- 
cient to  condemn  a  man  before  now." 

"But  it  will  not  in  vour  case.  I  feel  sure  of 
it.  It  is  impossible,  Fred,  that  you  can  be  con- 
victed!" exclaimed  Gus,  impetuously  rising  and 
pacing  the  cell. 

"Well,  never  mind  that  now.  What's  the  news 
from  the  outer  world?  What  does  pul>lic  opin- 
ion say  of  me?'' 

"Public  opinion's  a — fool!" 

"Tn  many  cases  it  is,  no  doubt ;  but  what  does 
it  say  of  me?" 

"It  says  vou're — guilty." 

"1  thought  so,"  said  Fred  quietly.  "This 
charitable  world  is  always  inclined  to  look  on  the 
worst  possible  side  of  things.  No  doubt  there 
will  be  an  immense  crow  d  at  the  trial." 

"Oh,  of  course!  ^V)U  nvjvcr  saw  such  excite- 
ment.    .Your  family  and  the  Percivals  being  so 


'I.       ! 


i66 


The  Trial. 


M 


highly  connected,  nothing-  else  is  talked  of.  Peo- 
ple are  looking  forward  to  the  trial  with  an  eager- 
ness and  anxiety  you  can  have  no  idea  of,,  They 
are  crazy  to  get  a  sight  oi  you,  too,  and  you  may 
expect  to  endure  a  pretty  prolonged  stare  from 
a  couple  of  thousand  eyes  on  that  day.  This 
exaggerated  anxiety  would  be  ludicrous  were  it 
not  so  annoying,"  said  Gus,  biting  his  lip. 

''Where  are  the  Percivals  now?"  inquired 
Fred,  after  a  pause. 

'The  major  and  Nugent  are  in  town  here,  Mrs. 
Percival,  whose  life  is  despaired  of,  is  at  home, 
and  poor  Nell,  half  insane  with  grief,  is  with 
her." 

*Ts  my  father  here  yet?" 

"Yes;  I  saw  him  yesterday,  looking  as  though 
fifty  years  had  lately  been  added  to  his  age,  but 
as  proud  and  haughty  as  ever.  'Tis  said  he  will 
wait  until  after  your  trial  and  then  leave  for 
England." 

'T  suppose  he  imagines  me  guilty,  like  the 
rest?" 

"No  doubt;  but  when  your  trial  is  over  and 
your  innocence  clearly  proved,  perhaps  they  will 
change  their  tune." 

"It  matters  little,"  said  Fred;  "even  though  I 
am  acquitted  public  opinion  will  still  believe  me 
guilty,  and  I  will  be  just  as  much  a  murderer  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  as  though  1  had  iDeen  con- 


The  Trial. 


167 


.  eo- 
g-er- 
'hcy 
11a  V 
roni 
'his 
e  it 


demned.  But  what  do  1  care  for  the  opinion  of 
the  world?"  he  added,  drawing  himself  proudly 
up,  while  some  of  the  old  haughtiness  Hashed  in 
his  eye  and  curled  his  lip.  '1  live  in  a  world  of 
my  own,  as  high  ahove  theirs  as  heaven  is  above 
the  earth.  But  you,  dear  Gus — I  should  he  sorry 
to  lose  your  faith  in  my  integrity.  Iluw  will 
you  be  al)le  to  maintain  your  belief  in  my  inno- 
cence, against  such  an  overwhehning  mass  of 
testimony  as  will  be  brought  against  me?" 

"Though  all  the  world  should  believe  you 
guilty,  Fred,  I  never  will,"  replied  Gus  firmly. 

"Even  thoug-h  I  should  be  condemned?" 

**Even  though  you  should  be  condemned!" 

"ITeaven  bless  you,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Fred, 
grasping  his  hand,  while  tears  sprang  to  his  deep, 
dark  eves. 

"And  now  I  must  leave  you,  Fred,"  said  Gus. 
*'I  v.ill  s(^e  you  to-morrow  again,  if  possible. 
Meantime,  remember  the  old  motto:  'Hope  on, 
hope  ever.'  " 

"There  remains  but  little  for  me  to  hope  for," 
said  Fred  sadly.  ''Hitherto,  I  have  always  borne 
an  unsullied  name;  but  now  the  disgrace  of  this 
trial  for  murder  will  cling  to  me  for  life." 

"Nonsense,  Fred!  The  world  is  not  so  un- 
just. 'Before  morning  dawns,  night  is  ever  dark- 
est.' There  are  bright  days  in  store  for  you  yet, 
believe  me." 


[219 


i 


\ 


I 


i68 


The  Trial. 


'*Yoii  are  unusually  full  of  'wise  saws'  to-day, 
Gus,''  said  Kred  with  sonicthinf^'  like  the  old  smile 
ilitling"  over  his  handsoiiie  face.  "I  shall  wait 
impatiently  for  your  coming-  to-morrow,  for,  shut 
in  this  hlack  hole,  it  seems  like  a  glimpse  of  the 
outer  world  to  catch  sight  of  3'ou." 

Gus  knocked  at  the  door  to  be  let  out.  The 
jailer  opened  it  and  the  youth  disappeared. 


.  The  day  of  trial  came  at  last.  Even  at  early 
morn  the  streets  were  crowded  by  the  excited 
mob,  anxious  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  prisoner 
when  he  should  be  led  forth.  Stores  were 
closed,  for  men  forgot  to  buy  and  sell  in  talking 
over  the  dreadful  murder,  and  the  assassin's 
probal;le  fate.  Women  neglected  their  ordinary 
occupation  to  chat  over  the  demerits  of  the  case, 
for  the  prisoner  being  young,  handsome,  and 
highly  connected,  deeply  interested  the  fair  sex. 
Even  children  forgot  their  marbles  and  tops  in 
the  all-abtxjrbing  topic,  and  played  at  "trials," 
and  talked  of  judge  and  juries,  instead  of  kites 
and  penknives.  Tn  short,  nothing  was  thought 
or  spoken  of  but  the  one  exciting  subject — the 
trial  of  Frederic  Stanley  on  the  appalling  charge 
of  murder. 

The  doors  were  at  length  thrown  open.     Tlic 
crowd  rushed  in  and  the  courtroom  was  filled  to 


I'he  Trkil.  169 

suffocation.  A  tlcMp,  low  nuinnur,  like  the  mhj;- 
ing  of  the  seei,  tilled  the  air  as  the  mighty  crowd 
swayed  to  and  fro.  The  nurrinur  increased  a! 
most  into  a  ruar  as  the  prisoner,  in  the  eustotly 
of  the  sheriff,  entered.  The  scowling-  faces  011 
ever}'  side  showed  how  deeply  tlie  moi»  were 
j)rejudiced  agains'  him,  and  it  was  with  the  ut- 
most difficulty  order  could  he  maintained. 

In-ed  entered  with  the  careless  grace  ha])itual 
to  him,  his  fme  head  erect,  his  kecr..  dark  eyes 
fixed  calmly  on  the  excited  crowd.  More  than 
one  scowling-  glance  fell  hefore  his  haughty  eye, 
and  the  puhlic  was  forced  to  think  that  he  lo()ked 
far  more  like  some  captive  prince  than  an  assas- 
sin. If  he  were  guilty,  he  certainly  hetrayed  no 
si^n  of  it. 


Taking  his  place  at  the  har,  Fred  glanced  again 
at  the  crowd  in  the  courtroom.  There  sat  iNhijor 
Tercival,  with  a  hrow  stern  and  dark  as  night,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  prisoner  wdth  a  look  of  >:Vk\\ 
intense  hatred  and  loathing*  that  he  sectned  long- 
ing to  tear  him  limh  fi-om  limh.  Near  him  sat 
Nugent,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  crowd,  his  hrow 
clouded,  hut  there  was  a  look  far  more  of  sorrow 
than  of  aii^er  on  his  fa.ce.  That  lie  hclieved  Inm 
guilty  there  could  he  little  douht;  anrl  for  a  mo- 
nient  a  feeling-  of  despair  weighed  on  tlie  heart 
of  i-'red  at  the  thought:  ''\i  Nugent  i'erciva], 
with  his  open,  generous  nature  and  nol^le  mind, 


F9 


l-s. 
red 


•g 


t 


f  I 


170 


The  Trial. 


i. 


believed  him  capable  of  murder,  what  could  he 
expect  from  strangers?" 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  courtroom,  with  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  his  cloak  thrown 
over  his  shoulders,  and  wrapped  in  his  haughty 
pride  as  in  a  garment,  sat  Sir  William  Stanley. 
His  face  was  cold  and  stern,  his  eye  clear  and 
unpitying,  his  mouth  firm  and  rigid.  Whether 
he  believed  in  his  son's  guilt  or  not  it  would  be 
hard  to  determine.  Nothing  could  be  read  from 
his  face ;  all  was  stern  and  expressionless  there. 

Again  he  glanced  over  the  crowd.  Whichever 
way  he  turned  nothing  met  his  eyes  but  fierce 
looks  and  sullen  glances.  Those  who  had  been 
his  friends  in  other  day3  sat  with  downcast  eyes 
and  averted  faces;  no  kindly  look  was  there. 
Not  one  among  all  that  immense  crowd,  if  called 
upon  to  pronounce  his  doom,  but  would  have 
shouted:  "Guilty,  guilty!" 

He  turned  away  with  a  feeling  of.  despair  at 
his  heart,  but  his  outward  bearing  was  bold,  un- 
daunted, and  almost  defying.  He  glanced  at  the 
bench.  Even  the  presiding  judge  seemed  to 
have  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  guilt  of  the 
prisoner,  judging  by  the  look  his  face  wore. 

As  for  the  jury  little  could  be  read  from  their 
blank  faces,  but  more  than  one  of  thcni  he  knew 
to  be  his  personal  enemies. 

A\v'k\  all  that  asscmblv  there  was  but  one  wlio 


The  Trial. 


171 


Ins 


in  his  heart  believed  in  the  innocence  of  the  pris- 
oner. Gus,  faithful  to  the  last,  stood  by  his  side, 
returning  every  look  of  hatred  directed  toward 
his  friend  with  compound  interest,  and  endeavor- 
ing, by  his  cheerful  face  and  hopeful  glances,  to 
encourage  him  to  trust  for  the  best. 

Having  taken  his  place,  the  usual  charge  was 
read,  arraigning  the  prisoner  with  the  willful 
murder  of  Edith  Percival  by  stabbing  her  with 
a  knife  on  the  night  of  the  fifth  of  June.  Fred 
listened  with  outward  calmness  to  the  charge, 
and  when  the  clerk  of  the  court  asked  the  usual 
question:  ^'Frederic  Stanley,  how  say  you — are 
you  guilty  or  not  guilty  of  the  felony  with  which 
you  are  charged?"  his  dark  eye  flashed  and  his 
lip  curled  as  he  answered  with  cold  haughtiness: 

"Not  guilty!" 

The  State's  attorney  then  arose  and  proceeded 
with  his  address.  No  pen  can  describe  the  emo- 
tions which  his  eloquence  and  pathos  produced 
in  minds  already  made  up  to  believe  the  prisoner's 
guilt.  To  destroy  any  favorable  impression  the 
well-known  nobleness  and  generosity  of  llie  pris- 
oner might  have  made  on  the  minds  of  the  jury, 
he  spoke  of  the  excesses  to  which  ])lind  rai^e  will 
often  excite  even  the  most  tranquil,  of  his  known 
liaughtiness  and  fiery  temper,  which  could  never 
endure  opposition. 

He  dwelt  long  and  eloquently  on  each  triHin.^- 


219 

I 

jrs. 
•ed 


.  r- 

1:11     •- 

''Mi 


i. 


^^2. 


The  Trial. 


circumstance  that  could  by  aiiy  possibility 
heighten  his  guilt,  until  Gus  grew  pale  with  ap- 
])rehension. 

As  he  proceeded  to  state  the  case,  the  audience 
were  vvronghl  up  to  a  pitch  of  the  highest  excite- 
ment. 

He  staled  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had  con- 
ceived a  passion  for  his  unhappy  victim,  knowing 
jier  to  be  the  betrothed  of  another;  how*  by  his 
artful  words  he  induced  her  to  forget  her  plighted 
engagenjent  and  turn  her  affections  to  himself: 
that  he  had  audaciously  disclosed  his  feelings  to 
the  father,  boasting  of  his  ascendancy  over  her 
at  the  same  time;  that,  meeting  with  what  he  de- 
served, an  indignant  dismissal,  he  had  de])artcd 
in  high  anger:  that  some  time  after,  her  former 
engagement  being  broken  by  a  circumstance  not 
necessary  to  mention,  the  prisoner,  on  the  eve- 
ning of  the  murder,  again  made  his  a])pearance 
in  the  little  village,  thinking,  no  doubt,  he  was 
now  'UYQ  of  success:  that  he  was  met  by  the 
young  lady's  father,  who  refused  to  permit  h'v.*^ 
in  -ce  her,  thai  angry  words  ensued,  and  the  pris- 
«.r<cr  ;*ode  off  in  high  displeasure:  but  instead  of 
iea-mg  the  village,  had  by  means  of  a  little  boy 
r-ccoyed  his  victim  to  a  lonely  house,  and  there, 
upon  her  steadily  refusing  to  fly  with  him,  mur- 
dered her. 

Jle  referred  to  the  ircntlo  and  amiable  charac- 


The  Trial. 


^71 


fility 
aj)- 

bnce 
titc- 


vmvr 


ter  of  the  unhappy  young  lady,  her  beauty,  her 
goodness,  and  the  deep,  trusting  affeciion  for 
himself  with  which  her  murderer  had  inspired 
her.  How  unsuspectingly  she  had  been  betrayed 
into  meeting  the  unworthy  object  of  her  love, 
and  because  her  sense  of  duty  was  greater  than 
her  affection  for  him,  was,  as  she  stood  there 
with  him,  alone  and  helpless,  basely  assassini»ted. 

So  touching  was  the  ])icture  he  drew,  so  pa- 
thetic were  his  words,  that  all  the  women  present 
sobbed  convulsively,  and  even  among  the  men, 
many  eyes,  all  unused  to  the  melting  mood,  grew 
dim,  and  flashed  still  more  fiercely  through  their 
tears  on  the  prisoner,  who,  with  his  face  shaded 
by  bis  hand,  strove  to  hide  the  agony  h'  'ndured, 
when  the  speaker  dwelt  on  the  harrow  g  fate  of 
his  beloved  Edith. 

The  State's  attorney  concluded  b  saying  he 
would  prove  his  statements  by  fac  -stern,  un- 
deniable facts — by  competent  and  respectable 
witnesses,  whom  he  would  now  call  'n  the  order 
of  the  circumstances  they  were  to  prove  had  oc- 
curred. 

"Major  Percival  will  take  the  stariu.'' 

The  major  advanced,  and  after  the  usual  oath, 
testified  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had  conceived 
a  passion  for  the  deceased,  which  she  returned, 
that  the  prisoner  had  boldly  informed  the  witness 
of  it,  and  that  they  Had  parted  in  high  anger. 


21^ 

rs. 
ed 

r- 


F 

1 1 


\\ 


174 


The  Trial. 


/ 


That  on  the  evening  of  the  murder  the  witness 
had  accidentally  met  the  prisoner  and  accosted 
him,  demanding  his  business  there,  knowing  he 
could  have  come  for  no  good  purpose;  that  the 
prisoner  had  audaciously  told  him  he  came  to  see 
his  dauglUer  once  more  before  leaving  the  coun- 
tr}  ;  that  he  indignantly  bade  him  begone,  and 
that  ihe  prisoner  in  a  rage  had  ridden  off,  and 
that  he  had  not  seen  him  since  until  to-day  at  the 
bar. 

Being  cross-examined,  he  admitted  that  at 
parting  the  prisoner  had  made  use  of  no  threats, 
and  that  h*  •  own  words  had  been  angry  and  in- 
sulting. The  witness  was  then  allowed  to  re- 
tire. 

The  next  witness  called  was  Nugent  Percival. 

He  corroborated  the  testimony  of  his  father, 
and  further  deposed  that  after  learning  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  murder,  he  had,  in  company  with 
his  father  visited  the  spot;  that  he  had  found  a 
dagger  stained  with  blood,  which  he  knew  to  be 
the  property  of  the  prisoner,  as  it  bore  his  name, 
and  had  been  the  gift  of  his  father.  That  he 
likewise  discovered  a  portion  of  a  silk  scarf, 
which  he  knew  the  deceased  had  worn  on  the 
night  of  the  murder. 

The  dagger  and  scarf  were  produced  and  Iden- 
tified by  the  witness. 


A  se 

ingmc 

Sir 

closely 

to  be  t 

Frc< 

testim 

be  no 

it  a 

troub 

it  wot 

of  jus 
Gu 

now 

have 

blam 

TJ 

M 

dent 

notli 

the 

ised 

cell" 

shii 

oat 


??!saaaa 


The  Trial 


175 


at 
ats, 
in- 
re- 


A  severe  cross-examination  followed  but  noth- 
ing more  was  elicited. 

Sir  William  Stanley  was  then  called.  After 
closely  examining  the  dagger  he  pronounced  it 
to  be  the  same  he  had  himself  given  his  son. 

Fred  listened  like  one  thunderstruck  to  this 
testimony.  That  the  dagger  was  his  there  could 
be  no  doubt,  and  he  now  recollected  having  lost 
it  a  short  time  previous  to  the  mu  »Lr,  but  had 
troubled  himself  little  about  it,  never  dreaming 
it  would  yet  bear  so  fatally  against  him  in  a  court 
of  justice. 

Gus,  who  had  listened  with  equal  surprise, 
now  stooped  down  and  whispered: 

'That  proves  nothing.  The  murderer  might 
have  accidentally  found  it  or  stolen  it  to  lay  the 
blame  on  you." 

TJie  third  witness  called  was  Edward  Dillon. 

Master  Eddy  came  up  with  a  swagger,  evi- 
dently in  the  highest  spirits.  Convinced  that 
nothing  would  be  done  to  him  for  his  share  in 
the  transaction,  and  elated  by  the  reward  prom- 
ised him  if  he  told  the  truth  boldly,  he  w-as  in  ex- 
cellent humor,  and  delighted  to  find  himself 
shining  off  before  so  great  a  crowd. 

"Witness,  do  you  understand  the  nature  of  an 
oath?"  asked  the  State's  attorney. 

"  'Spect  I  do,"  said  Eddy  seriously. 

"What  is  an  oath?" 


t 


^       ! 


iyO 


The  Trial. 


't'^K* 


Eddy  laid  his  linger  on  his  nose  in  deep  medi- 
tation; hut  e\'idenlly  tlie  question  was  a  poser. 
He  glanced  appeaHngly  at  the  judge,  but  that 
high  functionary  was  looking  at  him  through 
his  goid-rimnied  spectacles  with  silent  but  over- 
whelming dignity.  Finding  no  help  from  his 
quarter  I'^ddy  scratched  his  head  with  a  look  of 
intense  perplexity. 

"Witness,  what  is  an  oath?"  solemnly  repeated 
his  interlocutor. 

''Well,  if  I  must,  I  must,  though  I  plaguy 
hate  to,"  said  Eddy.  "When  you  told  the  tailor 
day  afore  yesterday  when  he  asked  you  foi  his 
bill  to  'go  to  the  devil,'  that  was  an  oath." 

A  roar  of  laughter  from  the  crowd  followed 
this,  while  the  attorney,  who  was  noted  for  now 
and  then  indulging  in  profanity,  turned  crimson 
with  rage. 

"Silence,  sir,  and  answer  to  the  point,"  he 
angrily  exclaimed.  "Do  you  know  where  you'll 
go  to  when  you  die  if  you  take  a  false  oath?" 

"Well,  I  s'pose  I'd  go  where  they  say  all  the 
had  folks  and  the  law  vers  gfo." 

And  Eddy  gave  -  head  a  peculiar  jerk  to 
designate  the  place         vv. 

Another  snicker  i.  mi  the  crowd  follow^cd  this; 
and  con\  inced  l^y  this  lime  that  Eddy  really  did 
know  the  natt^'-'.-  of  an    ;alh,  the  court  concluded 


izing 


The  Trial. 


^77 


jer. 
[hat 
Ugh 
Tr- 
Ihis 

of 


cd 


tliat  that  promising  yciing  gcntletTinn  should  he 
sworn. 

"Witness,  look  at  the  prisoner  at  Uie  bar." 

Eddy  turned  and  favored  Fred  with  a  patron- 
izini^  nod  and  grin. 

"Now,  witness,  you  have  seen  ihe  prisoner. 
Do  you  know  him?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  am  particularly  ac- 
(juainted  with  him,"  answered  Eddy  gravely. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  him  before?" 

"Well,  now,  I  really  couldn't  say  ior  certain, 
you  know.     Think  1  have,  thorgh." 

"Does  he  look  like  any  une  you  have  ever 
seen?" 

"If  he  had  a  long  cloak  on,  and  a  hat  pulled 
over  his  face,  I  would  be  s'prised  if  he  looked  un- 
common like  the  "chap  as  got  me  to  go  for  Miss 
Edith." 

"Witness,  on  your  oath,  can  you  testify  that 
this  is  not  the  same  person  who  paid  you  on  the 
night  of  the  murder  to  bring  the  young  lady  to 
the  lone  house  on  the  bluff?" 

"  'Twas  after  night,  and  his  hat  was  away 
down  over  his  face,  and  the  rest  of  him  was 
kivered  up  in  a  big*  cloak,  and  not  having  the  eycS 
of  a  cat,  I  couldn't  'stinguish  him  precisely,  lie 
was  'bout  the  size  of  that  'ere  prisoner,  though, 
and — yes,  he  had  hng,  black  hair  like  bi"i>  too 
1  saw  that." 


219 

Ijrs. 

I'ed 

r- 


178 


The  Trial. 


"Well,  now  tell  the  jury  all  that  passed  be- 
tween you  and  the  murderer  that  night.'' 

Interlarding-  the  narrative  with  many  explana- 
tions of  his  own,  not  particularly  lucid,  and  many 
profound  observations  on  what  he  thought  and 
said  to  "hisself,"  which  were  generally  cut  short 
by  the  unceremonious  attorney,  Eddy  proceeded 
with  his  tale,  which  is  too  well  known  to  the 
reader  to  need  repetition  here. 

When  he  came  to  the  meeting,  where  Edith 
addressed  her  murderer  as  "Fred,"  the  prisoner 
lifted  his  head  and  gazed  upon  the  boy  with  a 
look  of  utter  amazement.  That  he  was  telling 
the  truth  there  could  be  no  doubt,  for  there  was 
an  unmistakable  look  of  honesty  and  candor  on 
his  face. 

Eddy  was  severely  cross-examined  by  the 
counsel  for  the  defense,  but  all  his  answers  were 
plain  and  straightforward,  and  to  the  point.  At 
length,  thoroughly  exasperated  by  this  raking 
fire  of  cross-questions,  he  indignantly  and  stoutly 
refused  to  answer  a  single  question  more.  And 
amid  the  laughter  of  the  audience  Master  Eddy 
was  permitted  to  sit  down. 

The  girl  Betty  was  then  called,  who  corrol)- 
orated  the  evidence  of  Eddy,  as  far  as  coming 
for  the  deceased  was  concerned,  and  further 
identified  the  scarf  as  one  the  deceased  had  worn 
on  leaving  liiuiic. 


Th( 
sumni 
ingt( 
engaj 
half  \ 

ily  1^1 

the 

in  gi] 

dran^ 

alarr 

with 

had 

fire, 

he  o 

and 

exat 

pris 

and 

nigl 

tho 

alii 

c 

not 
coi 
lo^ 

w: 
th 


"'^9r^^^mmmimLjp!T: 


The  Trial. 


179 


J  be- 

lana- 
nany 

an(I 
iliort 
cded 

the 


The  landlord  of  the  inn  was  the  next  witness 
summoned,  who  deposed  that  a  stranger  answer- 
ing to  the  description  given  of  the  murderer,  had 
engaged  a  room  in  his  house  for  the  night;  that 
half  an  hour  previous  to  the  murder,  he  had  hast- 
ily left  the  house  and  turned  in  the  direction  of 
the  old  house  on  the  hluff ;  that  he  had  returned 
in  great  haste,  and  evidently  much  excited,  and 
drank  a  great  deal  of  brandy;  that,  upon  the 
alarm  of  fire  being  given,  he  had  hastened  out 
with  the  rest,  and  that  his  almost  frantic  actions 
had  excited  the  wonder  of  several ;  that  after  the 
fire,  he — the  witness — had  hastened  home,  that 
he  observed  the  assassin  plunge  into  the  woods, 
and  returned  to  his  house  no  more.  1  icing  cross- 
examined,  he  could  not  swear  positively  that  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  and  the  murderer  were  one 
and  the  same  person,  as  he  had  not,  during  the 
night,  procured  a  good  view  of  his  face,  but  he 
thought  they  were  the  same,  their  height  was 
alike,  the  color  of  their  hair,  etc. 

Several  other  witnesses  were  examined,  but 
nothing  more  of  importance  was  elicited,  and  the 
court  was  shortly  after  adjourned  until  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  great  trial  the  crowd 
was  even  greater  than  before,  all  eager  to  hear 
the  fate  of  the  prisoner.  Every  eye  was  turned 
upon  him  as  he  entered.     Pale,  but  firm,  his  eagle 


u 


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led 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


^^^^' 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  M580 

(716)  ^  '2-4503 


S>     Ji^' 


The  Trial. 


'■i.y 


\:A 


:1 


eye  met  the  gaze  of  that  crowd,  all  anxious  for 
his  condemnation,  without  flinching,  and  taking 
his  seat  he  lifted  his  princely  head,  and  fixed  his 
dark  eyes  on  the  bench  as  calmly  as  though  the 
men  before  him  held  not  his  life  in  their  hands. 

When  the  last  witness  for  the  prosecution  had 
been  examined  the  defense  was  taken  up,  and 
conducted  with  great  skill  and  eloquence  by  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoner.  He  spoke  at  length 
upon  the  high  character  his  client  had  always 
maintained,  and  enlarged  on  every  point  that 
could  possibly  be  in  his  favor.  It  was  evident, 
however,  his  words  made  but  little  impression  on 
the  minds  of  the  jury. 

The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  then  arose, 
and  summed  up  the  testimony  against  the  pris- 
oner in  one  crushing  mass  of  evidence.  When 
the  judge  stood  up  to  charge  the  jury,  the  silence 
of  that  mighty  crowd  was  so  deep  that  it  might 
almost  be"  felt.  It  was  quite  evident  that  in  his 
mind  there  existed  no  doubt  of  the  prisoner's 
guilt,  and  though  he  urged  the  jury  to  deliberate 
calmly  upon  the  evidence,  every  one  present  felt 
that  the  prisoner's  doom  was  sealed. 

The  jury  withdrew  to  deliberate,  and  the  si- 
lence of  that  mighty  crowd  was  so  profound  and 
ominous  that  it  was  painful  to  witness.  Every 
eye  was  directed  toward  the  prisoner,  who,  with 
his  stately  head  erect,  his  proud,  handsome  face 


The  Trial. 


iSi 


rose, 

pris- 

Vheii 

lence 

light 

1  his 

ler's 

rate 

felt 

si- 
and 
ery 
^ith 
ace 


as  cold  and  firm  as  marble,  betrayed  no  sign  of 
his  feeUngs  within.  Gus,  noble,  true-hearted 
Gus,  still  stood  faithful  by  his'  side,  his  only  re- 
maining friend,  and  looking  fierce  defiance  at 
every  scowling  glance  directed  toward  Fred. 

And  what  were  the  feelings  of  those  who  in 
other  days  had  stood  by  him  during  those  awful 
moments  of  suspense?  Sir  William  Stai;iley,  as 
stern  and  grim  as  death  itself,  sat  with  his  lips 
compressed,  his  stony  eyes  fixed"  on  the  floor,  his 
iron  face  expressing  no  emotion  whatever. 
Major  Percival  sat,  deadly  pale,  but  with  the 
old  look  of  mingled  hatred  and  triumph  on  his 
face.  Nugent's  head  was  bowed  on  his  hand,  his 
face  hidden  by  his  falling  hair. 

Presently  the  jury  reentered.  The  foreman 
arose  and  announced  that  their  verdict  was  ready. 

The  judge  arose. 

''Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  how  say  you,  is  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty?" 

"Not  guilty!"  cried  the  clear,  excited  voice  of 
a  female,  and  forcing  her  way  through  the  crowd 
that  fell  back  in  mingled  fear  and  amazement,  a 
young  girl  stood  before  the  bench. 

Throwing  back  the  veil  that  hid  her  face,  the 
newcomer  turned  slowly  round,  and  the  wonder- 
struck  spectators  beheld  the  pale  but  beautiful 
Edith  Percival.   -     ->  -  r 


.--.-.•.  yi«;w>:- 


r  ■  •  ."^  • 


''i'    ,.<;■■..  ?- 


i     " 


i — 
i 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Edith's  story.  3   . 

"Then  think  of  this  maxim,  and  cast  away  sorrow. 
The  wretched  to-day  may  be  happy  to-morrow  l" 

For  a  moment  the  profound  silence  of  intense 
amazement  held  every  tongue  speechless,  every 
voice  silent,  and  the  dense  crowd  stood  motion- 
less, spell-bound!  And  then,  "Edith!  Edith! 
Edith  Percival!"  rang  out  Hke  the  roar  of  the 
sea. 

The  excitement  and  uproar  was  fearful;  the 
judge  sat  transfixed;  the  jury  gazed  on  her  with 
mouth  and  eyes  agape;  the  crowd  reeled  and 
swayed  to  see  one  who  seemed  to  have  risen  from 
the  grave  to  vindicate  the  prisoner;  the  clerk  of 
•  the  court  forgot  to  cry  silence,  and  stood  staring 
in  speechless  astonishment  like  the  rest. 

And  Fred — the  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling, 
the  unexpected  sight  of  one  he  imagined  in 
"^  heaven,  came  so  stunningly  upon  him,  that  for  a 
njoment  the  sight  left  his  eyes,  his  senses  reeled, 
and  he  leaned  his  head  upon  the  railing,  feeling 
as  though  he  shoutd  faint.  It  was  but  for  an 
instant;  then  all  his  wonderful  power  of  self- 
control  came  back  and  he  lifted  his  head,  almost 
fearing  what  fie  had  seen  and  heard  was  but  a  de- 


b(4  J 


Edith's  Story. 


»83 


V 


lusion,  a  dream.  But,  no,  there  stood  Edith  alive, 
lovely  and  radiant  as  when  he  first  beheld  her, 
her  soft  blue  eyes  beaming  upon  him  with  such 
a  look  of  deep,  unutterable  love. 

With  a  passionate  exclamation  Major  Perci- 
val  arose  to  his  feet  and  would  have  sprung  to- 
ward his  daughter,  but  as  well  might  he  have 
endeavored  to  force  his  way  through  a  wall  of 
iron,  as  through  that  madly  excited  crowd. 
Nugent  perceived  how  vain  would  be  the  effort, 
and  though  almost  delirious  himself  with  over- 
whelming emotion,  he  strove  to  keep  him  back 
from  the  crushing  throng  of  human  beings. 

But  above  all  the  noise  and  uproar  that  filled 
the  courthouse,  there  arose  a  cry,  a  cry  so  full  of 
unspeakable  horror  and  despair,  that  every  heart 
stood  still.  All  eyes  were  turned  in  the  direction 
from  whence  it  came,  and  there  before  them, 
like  a  galvanized  corpse,  stood  Ralph  de  Lisle. 
Oh,  such  a  ghastly  face,  such  livid  lips  flecked 
with  blood  and  foam,  such  wild  despairing, 
horror-struck  eyes!  Every  face  blanched  with 
a  deep  unspeakable  awe  as  they  gazed. 

''Sheriff,  I  command  you  to  arrest  Ralph  de 
Lisle,  on  charge  of  attempting  the  murder  of 
Edith  Percival,"  called  a  calm,  commanding 
voice,  that  sounded  strangely  clear  and  cool  amid 
all  that  wild  storm  of  passion  and  excitement, 


and 


wavmg 


his  arm  to  where  stood  the  con- 


i84 


Edith's  Story. 


■3-  '  'fl 


:4' 


science-stricken  man,  the  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs 
turned  toward  the  bench. 

''Never!"  shouted  De  Lisle  fiercely,  all  his 
presence  of  mind  returning  with  the  imminence 
of  his  danger,  as  he  struggled  madly  to  force 
his  way  through  the  waving  sea  of  beings  be- 
tween him  and  the  door. 

But  he  struggled  in  vain.     The  strong  hand 

of  the  officer  grasped  his  collar  in  a  grip  of  iron. 

''Dog  of  a  sheriff!  Release  me!"  he  cried, 
foaming  with  rage,  and  endeavoring  to  wrench 

himself  from  his  powerful  grasp. 

Half  1  dozen  willing  hands  were  raised  to  aid 
the  officv^r,  when  De  Lisle,  seeing  all  hope  was 
past,  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  drew  a  pistol 
and  leveled  it  at  Edith.  She  stood  white  and 
motionless,  unable  to  move,  while  a  low  cry  of 
horror  arose  from  the  spectators.  But  his  mur- 
derous object  failed,  for  as  quick  as  thought  his 
arm  was  struck  upward,  while  the  pistol  fell  to 
the  ground  and  went  off.  A  shriek  of  pain  fol- 
lowed, and  a  boy  was  raised  from  the  floor  bleed- 
ing and  was  carried  out,  the  ball  having  lodged 
in  his  ankle.     ■>  '  •  ^  "    '^ 

This  did  not  tend  to  allay  the  feelings  of  the 
mob,  who  turned  upon  De  Lisle,  and  would  have 
torn  him  to  pieces  but  for  the  inter ferience  of  the 
officers.  His  arms,  after  desperate  resistance, 
were  pinioned  firmly  behind  his  back,  and  still 


Edith's  Stor}f. 


1^5 


struggling-  like  a  madman  he  was  borne  to  a  place 
of  safety.  ■   -  .  •    .    '. 

With  the  utmost  difficulty  peace  was  at  length 
restored,  and  Edith  was  commanded  to  tell  hv.n' 
story;  and  then  the  deepest  silence  followed 
where  a  moment  before  all  had  been  tierce  noiso 
and  wild  uproar,  and  all  ears  were  bent  and  necks 
strained  to  catch  each  word  that  fell  from  her 
lips.  But  Edith  was  so  weak  and  faint  from  ex- 
citement that  her  voice  was  inarticulate.  A 
chair  was  brought  for  her,  and  a  glass  of  \yater 
presented  by  Gus,  who,  poor,  faithful  fellow, 
scarcely  knew  whether  he  oughc  to  laugh  or  cry, 
and  consequently  did  neither,  and  then  Edith 
turned  to  the  bench  and  began: 

*'I  presume  all  here  present  know  most  of  the 
events  of  that  night.  Oh,  that  dreadful  night! 
I  cannot  even  now  think  of  it  without  a  shudder. 

'Thinking  I  was  to  visit  his  sister,  I  accom- 
panied the  boy,  Eddy  Dillon,  from  home.  Form- 
ing some  excuse,  he  persuaded  me  to  go  with 
him  to  the  old  house  on  the  blufj.  As  we  as- 
cended the  hill,  a  man  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  h^s 
face  hidden  by  his  hat,  stepped  from  the  old 
house  and  stood  before  us.  I  imagined  it  to  be 
Frederic  Stanley,  who  that  evening  had  been  in 
the  village,  and  thinking  he  had  employed  the  boy 
to  lead  me  there  for  a  clandestine  interview,  I 
addressed  him  by  his  name.     Fie  did  not  reply. 


U9 

rs. 
|ed 

'fig 


ri' 


\9 


r- 
>- 

D 


i 


M 


i86 


Edith's  Story. 


:■*.. 


but  said  something  in  a  whisper  to  Eddy,  who 
immediately  ran  away.  Still  thinking  it  was 
Fred  I  followed  him  into  the  old  house,  and  again 
called  him  by  his  name.  Still  he  was  silent.  I 
grew  alarmed,  when  he  dropped  his  cloak,  raised 
his  hat,  and  I  saw  before  me  my  mortal  enemy, 
Ralph  de  Lisle!" 

Edith  shuddered,  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  as  memory  conjured  up  that  almost 
fatal  night. 

"I  was  so  shocked,  so  startled,  so  terror- 
stricken,  that  for  a  moment  I  almost  fainted.  I 
scarcely  know  how  I  rallied,  but  I  was  inspired  by 
sudden  courage,  and  stood  fearlessly  before  him. 
He  urged  me  to  fly  with  him  or  die.  Death  was 
preferable  to  lifo  with  him,  and  I  refused. 
Blinded,  maddened  by  my  refusal,  he  drew  a  dag- 
ger and  plunged  it  into  my  side.  Dimly,  as  one 
remembers  a  frightful  dream,  I  recollect  falling  to 
the  ground,  then  I  drew  out  the  knife  and  all  grew 
dark,  and  with  a  dull  roaring  sound  as  of  many 
waters  in  my  ^rs,  memory  and  life  were  alike 
fof  a  time  lost  in  oblivion. 

"When  I  again  opened  my  eyes  I  found  my- 
self lying  in  the  little  cottage  among  the  cliffs, 
occupied  by  the  aged  hermit.  For  days  I 
hovered  between  death  and  life,  and  with  a  care 
for  which  I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful,  the 
hermit  watched  over  me  night  and  day.     He 


Edith's  Story. 


187 


scarcely  ever  left  me,  even  for  his  necessary  re- 
pose. Owing  to  his  care  I  slowly  recovered. 
He  said  it  would  be  dangerous  to  remove  me 
home,  and  I  was  too  weak  and  powerless  to  care 
where  I  was.  As  he  never  went  out  we  heard 
nothing  of  what  was  transpiring  in  the  outer 
world,  until  yesterday,  yielding  to  my  entreaties, 
he  went  to  inform  my  parents  that  I  was  still 
alive.  The  first  person  he  met  related  the  arrest 
of  Mr.  Stanley,  and  informed  him  he  was  to  be 
tried  to-day  for  murdering  me.  With  almost 
frantic  haste  he  turned  home  and  told  me  all; 
and  scarcely  pausing  to  make  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements we  started  for  this  place,  and,  thank 
Heaven,  we  have  arrived  in  time  to  vindicate  the 
innocence  of  Frederic  Stanley.'* 

Edith  paused  and  glanced  with  a  look  of  un- 
changeable affection  toward  the  spot  where  Fred 
sat,  his  face  alternately  flushing  and  paling  with 
powerful  emotion.  There  was  a  moment's  dead 
silence,  and  then  a  cheer  that  made  the  old  court- 
house ring  came  from  every  excited  heart.  Yes; 
in  that  moment  a  complete  revulsion  of  feeling 
took  place  in  every  breast.  Fred's  triumph  was 
complete;  and,  with  its  usual  impulsive  inconsid- 
erateness,  the  mob  as  heartily  rejoiced  in  his  in- 
nocence as,  a  few  moments  previously,  they  had 
done  in  his  guilt. 

"But  how  were  you  rescued?"  said  the  judge, 


M9 

rs. 

led 

r- 
r- 
r- 
)- 

0 

If 


I 
I     1 


1^ 


i88 


Edith's  Story. 


partaking  of  the  universal  excitement.     "This 
blank  in  your  btory — 


'J 


*'Can  be  filled  by  nie,"  interrupted  the  hermit, 
stepping  forward.  "On  the  night  in  question^ 
passing  accidcntaly — or  rather  by  a  dispensation 
of  l^rovidence  which  men  call  chance — near  the 
bluff,  I  beheld  to  my  surprise  a  sudden  jet  of 
flame  shoot  up  from  a  pile  of  rubbi^^h  near. 
Anxious  to  know  the  cause  1  hastened  up  and  en- 
tered the  old  barn.  All  was  deserted  and  dreary 
around,  and  1  was  about  to  quit  it  and  give  the 
alarm,  when  my  eyes  fell  on  an  object  lying  at 
my  feet,  that  almost  transfixed  me  with  horror, 
t^Jiat  froze  the  very  blood  in  my  veins.  There, 
lying  cold  and  lifeless,  bathed  in  blood,  lay  Edith 
Percival.  In  a  moment  the  whole  truth  burst 
upan  me.  She  had  been  murdered  there,  and 
the  assassin  had  set  fire  to  the  house  to  conceal 
the  evidence  of  his  crime.  Should  I  leave  her 
to  perish  in  the  flames?  No;  not  if  I  died  with 
her.  An  almost  superhuman  strength  seemed 
to  inspire  me.  I  raised  her  lifeless  form  in  my 
arms  as  though  she  had  been  an  infant,  and 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  cliffs.  At  anv 
other,  time  the  feat  would  have  been  impossible ; 
but  a  strength  not  my  own  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  been  granted  to  me,  and  ere  morning 
dawned  I  had  reached  my  little  cottage  in  safety. 

I  had  imagined  her  dead,  but  to  my  surprise 


\ 


Edith's  Story. 


189 


and  joy  1  soon  discovered  signs  of  life.  Having 
a  little  knowledge  of  surgery,  1  examined  the 
wound  and  discovered  that,  though  dangerous 
it  was  far  from  being  mortal.  I  applied  such 
remedies  as  i  knew  to  be  good  in  such  \  case ;  and 
in  the  course  of  a  few  days  she  began  to  recover. 
1  did  not  wish  to  tell  her  friends,  knowing  they 
would  disturb  her  v^ith  visits,  and  perhaps  insist 
on  having  her  removed,  a  proceeding  which  I 
knew  would  be  highly  dangerous.  The  world 
calls  me  odd  and  eccentric;  perhaps  this  was  one 
of  my  eccentricities ;  besides,  1  wished  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  returning  to  her  family  one  whom 
they  imagined  dead.  It  never  occurred  to  me 
that  any  one  but  the  real  murderer  would  be 
arrested.  Judge,  therefore,  of  my  surprise, 
when  the  first  time  I  left  home  I  learned  that 
Frederic  Stanley  had  been  arrested,  and  was 
about  to  be  tried  for  her  murder.  I  lost  no  time 
in  hastening  here — and  here  I  am." 

And  then  such  another  shout  as  rent  the  air! 
The  crowd  seemed  to  have  gone  wild.  Then  the 
court  was  adjourned  and  the  prisoner  discharged, 
and  Edith  went  over  and  laid  her  hand  in  his, 
and  looked  up  in  his  face  with  her  love-beaming 
eyes. 

The  friends  of  Fred  were  now  pressing  around 
lo  shake  hands  and  congratulate  him  on  his  tri- 
umphant   vindication.     And    first   among   them 


D 


190 


Edith's  Story. 


'.  'ffti' 


■ 


came  Gus,  with  "a  smile  on  his  Up  and  a  tear  in 
his  eye,"  and  who  shook  Fred's  hand  until  it 
ached,  and  who  squeezed  Edith's  little  hand  until 
her  fingers  tingled.  Then  way  was  made  for 
Major  Percival  and  his  son,  the  dense  crowd 
opening  right  and  left  to  allow  them  to  pass. 
Their  meeting  was  not  a  very  demonstrative  one, 
it  could  not  be  in  that  crowded  courtroom,  but 
it  was  none  the  less  heartfelt  and  deep  for  that. 

**And  Fred,  papa?'*  said  Edith  gently. 

The  face  of  the  major  grew  red  with  a  flush 
of  honest  shame  and  embarrassment  as  he  held 
out  his  hand.  For  a  moment  Fred  hesitated ;  all 
his  pride  rose  as  he  recollected  the  many  indig- 
nities he  had  received,  from  the  man  before  him. 
Edith  saw  the  struggle  in  his  mind,  and  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm  and  lifting  her  soft,,  reproach- 
ful eyes  to  his  face,  she  said : 

"Dear  Fred  r 

He  couM  not  resist  that  witching  glance.  The 
next  moment  his  hand  grasped  that  of  the 
major's  in  the  warm  clasp  of  friendship. 

''And  thus  do  I  atone  for  the  past,"  said  the 
major,  placing  the  hand  of  Edith  in  that  of  Fred. 

In  that  moment  the  past,  all -its  wrongs  and 
sorrows  and  suffering,  were  forgotten.  That  in- 
stant of  bliss  more  than  compensated  for  the 
troubled  past. 

There  was  one  other  whose  eves  fell  on  that 


maj 
at  : 
too 
wb 
W 
inji 


Edith's  Story. 


191 


The 
the 

the 
red. 
and 

in- 
the 

hat 


scene.  Ralph  de  Lisle,  pinioned  like  a  malefac- 
tor, and  led  out  between  two  officers,  saw  it  as 
he  passed.  He  gnashed  his  teeth  in  impotent 
rage,  and  his  eyes,  in  their  frenzied  despair, 
glared  upon  them  like  the  burning  orbs  of  a  tiger. 
Such  a  look  of  undying  hate  and  fierce  anguish ' 
Lucifer  might  have  worn  when  cast  from  heaven. 
His  livid  lips  opened  to  heap  curses  upon  them, 
but  words  refused  to  come.  His  face  grew  black 
and  convulsed,  his  eyes  turned  in  their  sockets, 
he  reeled  and  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground 
had  not  the  officers  supported  him  in  their  arms. 

As  they  raised  him  a  dark  stream  of  blood 
flowed  from  his  mouth.  In  his  agony  of  rage 
and  despair  he  had  ruptured  a  blood  vessel. 

They  bore  him  off  to  prison,  while  the  spec- 
tators gazed  on,  horror-stricken.  Faint  and 
sick,  Edith  hid  her  face  in  her  brother's  shoulder 
with  a  shudder. 

"Let  us  go,'*  said  Nugent,  turning  away,  pale 
with  horror,  as  he  passed  his  arm  around  his 
sister's  waist  to  lead  her  from  the  room. 

"You  will  accompany  us,  of  course,"  said  the 
major  in  an  imperative  tone  to  Fred,  who  glanced 
at  Edith,  and  bowed,  with  a  smile.  "And  you, 
too,"  added  the  major,  turning  to  the  hermit, 
whose  eyes  were  fixed  as  if  fascinaed  on  Sir 
William  Stanley,  as,  borne  along  by  the  sway- 
ing rush,  he  was  approaching  them. 


192 


Edith's  Story. 


cfi    131 


F^-' 


fj^' 


"No/'  said  the  hermit  gravely;  "my  task  is 
ended  and  I  must  return  home." 

"Oh,  pray  come  with  us!"  said  Edith  eagerly; 
"you  will  be  much  happier,  I  am  sure,  than  liv- 
ing all  alone  among  those  dreary  cliffs." 

But  the  hermit  only  shook  his  head  and  steadily 
refused. 

Finding  entreaties  vain  they  turned  to  go  out, 
v/hen,  unable  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
crowd,  Sir  William  Stanley  stood  directly  beside 
them.  All  paused  in  momentary  expectation. 
Fred's  cheek  flushed  and  his  heart  throbbed  as  he 
caught  his  father's  eye.  He  would  have  held 
out  his  hand,  but  the  baronet's  stern  look  forl)ade 
it.  Lifting  his  hat  to  Edith  he  bowed  coldly  to 
the  rest  and  passed  on,  with  the  same  look  of 
iron  inflexibility  his  hard  face  always  wore. 
Suddenly  his  eye  fell  on  the  hermit,  who  was 
half  hidden  behind  the  tall  figure  of  Fred.  He 
gave  a  sudden  start  as  though  he  had  received 
a  galvanic  shock,  his  face  grew  deadly  white  and 
then  deepest  crimson,  as  he  plunged  into  the 
crowd  and  disappeared. 

A  carriage  was  in  waiting  to  convey  them  to 
Percival  Hall.  The  hermit,  in  spite  of  their 
united  entreaties,  persisted  in  refusing  to  accom- 
pany them,  and  at  the  door  bade  them  farewell. 
The  major,  Edith,  Nugent,  Fred,  .and  Gus  there- 
fore entered,  and  were  soon  on  their  way  home. 


Edith's  Sfory. 


m  task  is 

[th  eagerly; 

'»  than  Iiv~ 
> 

N  steadily 

to  go  out, 
from    the 

ctly  beside 

^pectatioii. 

^^td  as  he 
have  held 
^^  fortede 
■  coldly  to 
te  look  of 
lys   wore. 
^ho  was 
i-ed.     He 

received 
^hite  and 
into  the 


193 


They  traveled  slowly,  for  Edith  was  still  weak; 
and  the  next  day  about  noon  arrived  at  the  Hall. 
Who  can  describe  the  meeting  that  there  ensued  ? 
Joy  seldom  kills,  and  though  the  shock  nearly 
extinguished  the  slight  spark  of  life  that  yet  lin- 
gered in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Percival,  she  slowly 
began  to  recover.  As  for  Nell,  her  first  impulse 
was,  to  embrace  every  one  present,  which  she  ac- 
cordingly did,  to  the  great  disgust  of  Gus,  who 
would  have  been  infinitely  better  pleased  to  have 
received  them  all  himself.  That  young  lady  re- 
mained quite  serious  for  a  day  or  two;  but  after 
that  she  became  the  same  incorrigible  she  had  been 
before.  And  Gus,  driven  to  desperation,  declried 
that,  of  all  the  trials  his  friend  had  been  afflicted 
with,  he  had  never  to  endure  so  severe  a  trial  as 
Nell  Percival. 


them  to 
=>f  their 
accom- 
arewell. 
5  there- 
home. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


W?  1 


**THE   WAGES   OF   SIN    IS   DEATH.'* 

"Burning  heart  and  beating  broM^ 

Ye  are  very  quiet  now." — ^E.  B.  Browning. 

It  was  night,  dark,  chill,  and  dismal.     The 
rain  pattered  like  spectral  figures  against  the- 
grated  windows,  the  wind  moaned  and  wailed 
drearily  without. 

In  his  cold  cell  sat  the  once  gay  and  handsome 
Ralph  de  Lisle.  Dark  and  wild  was  the  storm 
without,  and  darker  and  wilder  was  the  heart 
within  his  bosom.  His  face  was  blanched  to  the 
hue  of  death,  and  looked  still  whiter,  contrasted 
with  his  heavy  black  locks.  He  was  half  reclin- 
ing on  his  wretched  bed,  lying  so  still,  so  motion- 
less, that  one  might  have  thought  him  dead,  but 
for  the  fierce- living  light  blazing  in  his  wild,  black 
eyes. 

It  was  wonderful  how  he  could  lie  there  so 
immovable  with  such  a  fire  in  his  heart,  the  burn- 
ing fire  of  remorse.  All  his  life  seemed  passing 
in  review  before  him,  and  he  shuddered  to  find 
himself  so  young  in  years,  yet  so  old  in  crime. 
His  part  m  the  drama  of  life  was  over,  and  the 
world  would  go  round  as  though  he  never  had 
existed.     He  felt  like  a  man  who  has  staked  his 


*The  Wages  of  Sin  Is. Death. 


» 


'•    SO 

irn- 

ing 

ind 

tie. 

he 

Id 

h 


all  on  the  gaming  table,  and  lost.  The  world 
had  been  to  him  a  chessboard,  and  men  and 
women  had  moved  as  he  willed;  but  an  unseen, 
though  powerful,  hand  had  been  playing  against 
him;  another  had  won,  and  Ralph  de  Lisle  was 
checkmated  in  the  great  game  of  life,, 

Like  some  dark  panorama  all  the  events  of  his 
life  were  still  passing  before  him.  He  thought 
of  the  past,  of  his  boyhood,  with  all  its  bright 
promises,  high  hopes,  and  glorious  delusions. 
How  easy  all  those  noble  projects  seemed  of'  real- 
ization then !  But  like  the  mirage  of  the  desert, 
one  by  one  they  had  faded  away  at  his  approach. 
His  radiant  daydreams  had  all  set  in  a  sea  of 
blood  and  crime,*  and  he  had  gone  down,  down, 
in  his  rapid  career  of  crime,  not  daring  to  look 
back  at  the  height  from  which  he  had  fallen. 
And  then  came  his  visions  of  that  bright  land 
of  light  and  roses,  where  Edith  reigned  queen; 
and  once  more  he  seemed  wanderifig  with  her 
through  the  dim  mystic  aisles  of  the  grand  old 
wood,  and  watching  with  his  old  feeling  of  adora- 
tion the  g  iden  sunlight  falling  on  her  flowing 
hair.  His  prison  walls  stretched  away,  and  he 
saw  himself  standing  in  the  lofty  rooms  of  Per- 
cival  Hall,  with  Edith  blushing  and  smiling  be- 
side him,  his  betrothed  bride.  He  saw  her  so 
vividly  before  him  v  ith  her  sunny  smile,  and  her 
blue  love-beaming  eyes  sinking  beneath  his,  that 


U9 


rs. 


[ 


r- 

r- 

0 


iln 

't        r 

1 

In 

i 

1 

t 

! 

f 


''The  Wages  of  Sin  Is  Deaih." 


'ff   ,3) 

■  ■   'I' 


the  almost  forgotten  love  of  other  days  came 
back,  and  with  the  irrepressible  cry,  "Oh,  Edith, 
niy  hope!  My  dream!  My  life!"  he  stretched 
out  his  arms,  almost  expecting  to  enfold  the  radi- 
ant vision  before  him.  It  faded  away  in  thin 
air,  and  he  awoke  with  a  start  from  the  trance 
into  which  he  was  falling. 

The  past  was  gone;  he  could  think  of  it  no 
longer.  And  the  present !  Could  this  be  he, 
Ralph  de  Lisle,  the  high  born,  the  haughty,  this 
convicted  felon?  Had  all  his  daring  projects,  all 
his  bold  schemes,  from  which  less  reckless  minds 
would  have  shrunk,  all  his  fearless  deeds,  come 
to  this  at  last?  .  He  had  trampled  the  solemn 
commands  of  God  and  the  slavish  laws  of  men 
alike  under  his  feet;  he  had  committed  crimes 
that  no  other  would  have  dared  to  contemplate, 
until  he  had  begun  to  fancy  himself  above  pun- 
ishment. He  had  gone  on  so  long  in  his  reck- 
less career  of  crime  with  impunity  that  he  had 
forgotten  a  day  of  reckoning  must  come;  and 
now  he  realized  it  at  length.  He  could  have 
made  his  escape  after  his  diabolical  crime  had 
•been  perpetrated,  but  some  power  within  chained 
him  to  the  spot.  He  felt  sure  Fred  Stanley 
would  be"  convicted  and  that  his  triumph  would 
be  complete.  After  the  execution  of  his  rival, 
his  intention  was  to  return  to  England,  and  there 
t  lose  the  recollection  of  the  past.     But  all  his  pro- 


"The  Wages  of  Sin  Is  Death" 


1 97 


jects  had  fallen  to  the  ground  with  a  erash;  she 
whom  he  imagined  dead  was  clasped  in  the  arms 
of  his  hated  foe,  and  her  stern  father  smiled  on 
their  union;  a  life  of  happiness  was  before  them 
— and  he  was  here. 

What  fiad  the  future  in  store  for  him?  His 
trial  was  soon  to  come;  and  he  saw  the  eyes  of 
the  crowd  fixed,  upon  him  in  hatred  and  derision. 
They  could  now  point  to  him  in  scorn  as  the 
foiled  assassin.  If  the  law  found  him  guilty  and 
he  was  condemned!  He  shuddered  as  the  gal- 
lows and  all  the  fearful  paraphernalia  of  a  fel- 
on's death  rose  before  him.  The  maddened 
crowd,  glaring  at  him  with  their  savage  eyes,  and 
ready  to  tear  him  limb  from  limb  as  they  had  at- 
tempted to  do  in  the  courthouse.  And  his  rival, 
his  mortal  enemy,  would  be  there  to  exult  over 
his  ignominious  death? 

But  his  life  might  be  saved !  True,  he  was  as 
much  a  murderer  as  though  his  victim  had  per- 
ished in  the  burning  house,  but  the  law  might 
not  find  him  so.  And  if  he  was  spared,  what 
then?  A  long  lifetime  of  drudgery  among  fel- 
ons' the  lowest  of  the  low,  until  death  would  place 
him  in  a  convict's  despised  grave! 

Those  hands,  small  and  white  as  a  woman's, 
must  grow  hard  and  coarse  w^ith  unceasing  toil ; 
and  he,  a  De  Lisle,  born  to  wealth  and  honor, 
must  herd  with  thieves  and  murderers  for  the 


198 


"The  Wages  of  Sin  Is  Death. 


ff 


remainder  of  his  life.  The  picture  grew  too  hor- 
rible tcfc*be  longer  endured.  He  sprang  from  his 
bed,  with  the  perspiration  standing  in  great 
beaded  drops  on  his  brow,  his  hands  clenched  until 
the  nails  sank  into  the  quivering  flesh,  his  eyes 
bloodshot  and  glaring,  an  expression  o?  horror 
unutterable  on  his  ghastly  face !  Oh,  in  that  mo- 
ment, how  fearful  was  the  maddening  storm  of 
passion  in  his  guilty  heart !  A  lifetime  of  agony 
seemed  concentrating  into  each  second  as  it 
passed ;  the  blood  seemed  to  pour  like  molten  lead 
through  every  vein ;  a  wheel  of  fire  seemed  crash- 
ing through  his  brain;  his  very  eyes  seemed  like 
red-hot  balls  of  fire. 

He  strode  up  and  down  like  a  maniac,  and 
springing  to  the  window  shook  the  iron  bars  with 
the  fierce  strength  of  madness.  His  hands  were 
cut  and  bleeding  but  he  heeded  it  not,  as  he  strug- 
gled like  a  caged  tiger  to  wrench  them  away. 
All  in  vain !  The  strong  grating  resisted  his  ef- 
forts, and  he  fell  heavily  with  his  face  on  the 
stone  floor.  His  head  struck  on  something 
sharp,  and  the  blood  rained  down  from  a  gash 
in  his  forehead.  He  pressed  his  hand  to  the 
wound,  and  gazed  on  the  flowing  blood  with  a 
smile  that  might  have  chilled  the  stoutest  heart. 

The  storm  passed  away  with  the  morning's 
dawn.  The  bright  summer  sunshine  was  stream- 
ing gloriously  through   the   window   when   the 


"The  Wages  of  Sin  Is  Death." 


199 


jailer  entered.  *  And  there,  right  in  the  glow  of 
the  blessed  sunlight,  lay  Ralph  de  Lisle — dead. 

Of  all  the  sights  which  the  sun  rose  upon,  it 
looked  on  none  more  fearful  than  that.  Without 
the  prison  walls  the  stream  of  busy  life  flowed 
merrily  on ;  the  bride  stood  at  the  altar,  the  man 
of  business  hurried  by,  and  people  talked  and 
laughed  as  though  despair  was  a  word  unknown; 
and  within,  stark  and  cold  in  the  glare  of  the 
sunlight,  lay  the  rigid  form  of  the  dead  man,  his 
face  upturned  to  the  sky,  and  staring  wide  open 
were  the  glassy  eyes  that  never  would  look  on 
aught  in  this  world  again! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A    STARTLING    DISCOVERY. 

"And  thus  through  all  my  life  it  stalked,      ■; 

That  deadly,  deadly  sin! 
Though  e'er  so  fair  the  outside  mirth, 

The  specter  sat  within."  "    ]•; 

**Go,  Elva,  go!     I  must  see  him  before  I  die!'' 

'*0h,  father!  Listen  to  the  storm!  How  can 
I  go  out  to-night  ?" 

"Girl!  I  tell  you  I  must  see  him — I  must! 
Do  you  hear?  Even  though  fire  were  falling 
from  heaven,  you  should  have  to  go  forth  and 
bring  him  to  me!*' 

**But,  father,  I  know  not  where  he  is!  I 
could  brave  the  storm ;  but  you  may  die  here  be- 
fore I  return." 

*T  cannot  die — I  will  not  die  before  you  re- 
turn!" almost  screamed  Paul  Snowe,  tossing  in 
wild  delirium  ftn  his  pillow.  **Go,  and  find  Sir 
William  Stanley,  I  tell  you,  and  bring  him  here 
to  me.     I  cannot  die  until  I  have  seen  him." 

It  was  that  same  tempestuous  night  on  which 
Ralph  de  Lisle  had  breathed  his  last;  and  now 
his  accomplice  in  crime,  Paul  Snowe,  lay 
wounded  unto  death.  Strange  that,  on  the  same 
night,  both  should  be  doomed  to  die. 

He  lay  in  the  little  room  of  the  inn  near  Per- 


A  Startlbuj  Discovery. 


201 


cival  Hall.  It  was  the  same  house  iti  which  De 
Lisle  had  planned  the  murder  of  Edith  a  few 
weeks  before.  Perhaps  the  recollection  of  that 
night  added  to  his  delirium,  as  he  tossed  on  his 
bed  in  feverish  agony. 

A  week  before,  as  he  loitered  round  the  vil- 
lage, bound  by  some  unaccountable  fascination 
to  the  place  of  the  supposed  murder,  he  had  been 
stabbed  in  a  drunken  brawl.  Finding  his  days 
were  numbered  he  had  caused  them  to  seiid  for 
his  daughter  EWa,  who  had  arrived  a  few  pours 
before.  ^  .         i- 

Troubled  and  anxious,  Elva  threw  her  cloak 
over  her  shoulders,  and  tying  on  her  hood  hur- 
ried out  into  the  driving  rain.  As  she  passed 
out  she  encountered  the  burly  landlord,  who 
gazed  at  her  as  though  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 

''Jerusalem!"  he  ejaculated,  in  amazement, 
"you  ain't  surely  going  out  anywhere  in  the 
storm,  Miss  Snowe?'* 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  Sir  William  Stanley 
is  to  be  found  ?■ '  inquired  Elva  hurriedly. 

''Well,  no,  I  rayly  can't ;  but  his  son  lives  up  to 
Percival  Hall.     Likely  he  can  tell  you." 

"Percival  Hall  !'V  said  Elva,  with  a  start. 
"Does  it  belong  to  Major  Percival?" 

"Yes'm." 

"Has  he  a  daughter,  Edith?"  inquired  Elva, 
with  increasing  agitation. 


:i9 


^ 


r- 

0 

f 


202 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


h}^' 


'*Yes*m/'  again  responded  mine  host,  looking 
rather  surprised  at  the  emotion  she  manifested. 

"Edith!  Dear  Miss  Edith!"  exclaimed  the 
impulsive  Elva  in  a  sort  of  rapture,  as  she  darted 
out  into  the  blinding  storm. 

"Well,  I  never !"  said  the  jolly  landlord  open- 
ing his  eyes  in  amazement  until  they  resembled 
two  midnight  moons. 

In  a  moment  she  was  back  again  and  by  his 
side. 

"Can  you  tell  me  which  way  ^  must  go  to 
reach  Percival  Hall?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"Yes'm.  Keep  on  straight  for  a  spell,  then 
turn  to  the  right,  and  take  the  forest  road. 
Mind  and.don't  go  the  other  way,  or  you*ll  break 
your  neck  over  the  cliffs.  You'd  better  let  me 
send  Jenny  along  with  you  to  show  you  the  way, 
'cause — oh,  she's  gone!  She's  a  queer  one,  and 
no  mistake,"  said  the  worthy  landlord,  hastening 
to  raise  up  the  spirits  of  his  guests,  by  pouring 
his  own  spirits  down. 

Meantime  Elva  pursued  her  lonely  way 
through  the  driving  rain  and  blinding  storm  to- 
ward Percival  Hall,  almost  flying  along  in  her 
haste  to  reach  it.  I  scarcely  know  w^hether  it 
is  proper  to  tell  a  young  lady's  thoughts  or  not; 
but  certain  it  is  that,  though  Edith  occupied  a 
prominent  place  in  her  mind,  Edith's  brother  oc- 
cupied a  place  still  more  prominent. 


1*^ 


■i.;»j.j>j,V 


A  Starlling  Discovery. 


203 


1 


,i«*^ 


But  Elva,  bewildered  by  the  storm,  her  own    Bj'*^* 
thoughts,  her  haste,  and  the  strangeness  of  the   f**^ 
place,  forgot  the  landlord's  directions,  and  tool; 
the  road  leading  to  the  cliffs.     On  she  went,  stum-    iJ!  ^S 
bling  and  slipping  over  rocks  and  crags,  at  the    I 
imminent  danger  of  breaking  her  neck.     Sud- 
denly the  flash  of  a  light  caught  her  eye,  and 
walking  in  th,at  direction  she  soon  found  herself 
before  the  home  of  the  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs. 
She  rapped  loudly;  and  a  moment  after  the  door 
opened  and  the  hermit  stood  before  her,  holding 
a  lamp  in  his  hand,  the  full  light  of  which  fell 
on  his  imposing  figure. 

With  a  half-suppressed  scream  of  mingled 
terror  and  surprise  at  this  singular  apparition, 
Elva  turned  to  fly,  when  she  was  arrested  by  the 
mild,  kind  voice  of  the  hermit: 

*Tear  not  my  daughter;  the  Hermit  of  the 
Cliffs  is  the  friend  of  all  mankind.'' 

Elva  paused,  and  stood  hesitating. 

"Come  in  out  of  the  storm,  my  child.  It  is  a 
wild  night  for  a  young  girl  like  you  to  be  abroad." 

Reassured  by  his  friendly  words,  and  wishing 
to  know  more  of  this  strange-looking  personage, 
Elva,  who  was  naturally  courageous,  entered  the 
cottage. 

She  glanced  curiously  around,  but  there  was 
nothing  very  singular  about  it.     It  was  fitted  up 


mm-f 


204 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


as  any  other  ajiiiiiion  room  might  have  been,  and 
was  singularly  neat  and  clean.  '    ' 

*'Now,  my  child,  what  can  1  do  for  you?"  said 
the  hermit,  in  his  pleasant  tones. 

"I  started  for  Percival  Hall,"  answered  Elva, 
*'and  being  a  stranger  here  1  lost  my  way;  and, 
guided  by  the  light  of  your  lamp,  I  wandered 
here  and  sought  admittance.*' 

"You  had  better  stay  here  until  morning,"  said 
the  hermit;  *'the  night  is  too  stormy  for  you  to 
venture  abroad."  '        * 

'*0h,  no!  I  cannot.  My  father  is  dying,  and 
I  cannot  rest  until  he  sees  Sir  William  Stanley. 
I  must  hasten  to  Percival  Hall  immediately,  if 
you  v^ill  be  kind  enough  to  show  me  the  way." 

"Sir  William  Stanley,  did  I  understand  you  to 
say?"  said  the  hermit,  with  a  sudden  start. 

"Yes.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  to  find 
him?" 

"Who  is  your  father,  child?"  asked  the  hermit, 
without  heeding  her  question. 

"His  name  is  Paul  Snowe,"  replied  Elva. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  hermit,  almost  bound- 
ing  from  the  floor. 

**His  name  is  Paul  Snowe,"  repeated  Elva, 
drawing  back  in  surprise  and  alarm. 

"Is  it  possible?"  said  the  hermit,  deeply  ex- 
cited.    "And  are  you  Paul  Snowe's  daughter?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  astonished  Elva. 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


«>5 


o 


"What  is  your  name?" 

"El vena  Snowe." 

"Elvena!  Elvcna!"  repeated  the  hermit. 
"Can  there  be  two  Elvena  Snovves  in  ihe  worlcf?" 

"Sir,  1  must  go,"  said  Elva  in  alarm,  begin- 
ning to  think  him  insane. 

"Wait  one  moment  and  I  will  go  with  you," 
said  the  hermit,  cloaking  himself  with  wonder- 
ful celerity.  "Can  it  be  that  I  will  see  Paul 
Snowe  yet  once  again  before  I  die?" 

They  passed  out'  and  the  hermit  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  inn,  holding  Elva  firmly  by  the 
hand. 

"But  I  must  go  to  Percival  Hall,"  said  Elva, 
drawing  back.    - 

"Why?" 

"Tq  see  Sir  Wiliam  Stanley." 

"He  is  not  there,  child!" 

"His  son  is,  then,  and  he  can  tell  me  where 
to  find  him.     I  must  go,"  said  Elva  wildly. 

"His  son  knows  no  more  of  his  whereabouts 
than  you  do,  Elvena.     Believe  me:  it  is  impos- 
sible  for   you   to   find   him   to-night.     If   Paul 
Snowe  wishes  anything,  I  will  do  as  well  as  Paul 
.  Stanley.     Do  not  hesitate,"  he  added,  as  Elva 
still  hung  back;  "I  repeat,  it  is  utterly  impossible 
\for  you  to  find  him  to-night.     Come." 
./     Elva  felt  convinced  that  he  spoke  the  truth, 
'  lund  seeing  no  alternative,  she  allowed  him  to 


206 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


draw  her  on,  inwardly  dreading  to  meet  her 
father  without  the  man  for  whom  she  had  been 
sent. 

-  On  reaching  the  inn  .the  hermit  demanded  to 
be  at  once  shown  to  the  chamber  of  the  sick  man. 
As  they  entered,  Paul  Snowe  half  raised  himself 
on  his  elbow,  and  glared  at  them  with  liis  in- 
flamed eyes. 

'*Elva,  is  it  you?"  he  cried.  "Have  you 
brought  Sir  William  Stanley?  Ha,  who  are 
you?" 

"Your  best  frfend,  Paul  Snowe,"  said  the 
hermit,  advancing  to  his  bedside. 

"I  should  know  that  voice.     Who  are  you?" 

"Men  call  me  the  'Hermit  of  the  CliflFs,'  but 
you  knew  me  by  another  name  once,"  was  the 
answer.  '   . 

"And  Sir  William  Stanley,  where  is  he,  Elva? 
Elva,  did  you  not  bring  him?"  exclaimed  the 
wounded  man  in  an  agony  of  alarm. 

"My  friend,  you  cannot  see  him.  Sir  William 
Stanley  is  many  a  mile  from  here.  You  will 
never  meet  him  in  this  world  again,  for  your 
hours  are  numbered.  An)rthing  you  wish  to  tell 
liim  confide  in  me,  and  believe  me,  he  shall  hear 
it." 

i      "Can  I — dare  I  tell  you?    You  will  not  have 
me  arrested?*'  said  the  invalid  wildly. 


'^*.> 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


\ 


207 


you 

are 


ft 


but 
the 

VSL? 

the 

im 
ill 
Lir 
III 

ir 


"No,  my  friend;  you  are  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  laws.     Speak,  and  fear  not." 

"Men  say  you  are  good  and  generous,"  said 
Paul,  tossing  restlessly;  "therefore,  since  it  can- 
not be  helped,  I  will  tell  you.  Elva,  leave  the 
room.  Listen;  what  I  have  to  say  concerns 
her." 

*^Your  daughter,  Elva?" 

V She  is  no  daughter  of  mine;  neither  is  her 
name  Elva.  I  stole  her  when  a  child.  Her  name 
is  Leila  Stanley!" 

He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  hermit's  face  to  see 
what  effect  this  announcement  would  have;  but 
beyond  one  sudden,  convulsive  start,  he  betrayed 
no  emotion. 

"Go  on,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"To  tell  why  I  stole  her  it  will  be  necessary  to 
go  back  in  my  history.  I  once  had  a  sister — 
her  name  was  Elvena — ^whom  I  loved  as  I  never 
loved  any  other  human  being  in  this  world.  She 
grew  up  a  beautiful  girl,  the  pride  and  belle  of 
our  village,  but  in  an  evil  hoar  she  met  Sir  Wil- 
liam Stanley.  He  was  young  and  handsome  in 
those  days,  and  she  soon  learned  to  love  him. 
He  pretended  to  return  her  affection,  and,  under 
an  assumed  name,  he  wooed  and  won  her.  She 
becsme  his  wife,  little  dreaming  she  had  wedded 
a  baronet.     Well,  T  mirt  hurry  on  for  I  feel  that 


2q8 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


I  have  but  a  few  moments  to  live.  He  used  to 
go  to  England  under  pretense  of  business,  and 
during  one  of  the  occasions  he  married  again, 
some  high-born  lady.  He  had  grown  tired  of 
his  first  wife,  for  h^  was  always  a  heartless  vil- 
lain; but  he  wanted  his  son — they  had  one  child 
— he  came  and  forcibly  tore  him  away  and  de- 
parted for  England.  I  don't  know  what  story 
he  told  Lady  Stanley  about  the  child ;  probably 
that  he  had  been  married  and  that  his  wife  was 
dead,  or  some  other  convenient  lie.  I  was  ab- 
sent at  the  time,  but  when  I  returned  I  learned 
what  had  happened,  that  my  sister  had  gone 
crazy  and  wandered  off,  and  as  we  afterward 
learned,  died  in  a  distant  village.  I  swore  a 
fearful  oath  of  vengeance,  and  that  oath  has  been 
kept.  Years  passed  on  before  I  could  go  to  Eng- 
land and  seek  out  my  sister's  murderer.  I  found 
him  out  at  last,  and  learned  that  he  had  another 
child,  a  daughter,  whom  both  he  and  Lady  Stan- 
ley almost  idolized.  He  had  stolen  Elvena's  child 
ffom  her,  and  so  caused  her  death.  He  should 
suffer  as  she  had  done;  he,  too,  should  know  what 
it  was  to  lose  a  child;  and  one  day  when  she  was- 
out  playing  I  carried  her  off.        - 

"My  first  intention  had  been  to  kill  little  Leila, 
but  I  could  not  do  it.  As  you  may  imagine  there 
was  a  mighty  uproar  made  about  Sir  William 
Stanley's  child  being  kidnaped ;  the  whole  coun-t 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


2og 


try  was  aroused,  but  I  eluded  them  all.  I  had 
a  friend,  the  mate  of  a  small  trading  vessel,  and 
his  wife  consented  to  take  care  of  the  little  lady. 
I  gave  her  my  dead  sister's  name,  and  as  Leila 
grew  up  she  forgot  she  ever  had  any  other  parent 
but  me.  I  brought  her  here,  and  after  a  time 
fell  in  with  Ralph  de  Lisle,  and  joined  his  reck- 
less band  of  licensed  cutthroats. 

''But  during  all  those  years,  undying  remorse 
for  what  I  had  done  haunted  me  day  and  night. 
Lady  Stanley  had  died  shortly  after  her  child's 
loss;  and  when  J  heard  of  it  I  felt  as  though  I 
were  a  murderer.  Do  what  I  would,  reason  as 
I  pleased,  my  accusing  conscience  slept  not.  I 
was  not  one  to  inspire  affection,  but  I  think  Elva 
really  likes  me.  I  grew  fond  of  the  child  myself, 
but  I  never  could  endure  her  caresses;  for  at 
such  times  the  recollection  of  what  I  had  done 
would  rush  upon  me  with  double  force;  and  1 
would  think  how  she  would  shrink  from  me  in 
horror,  did  she  know  to  what  I  had  reduced  her 
— the  heiress  of  a  baronet. 
,  "In  after  years  I  met  Sir  William  Stanley's 
son.  Loving  my  sister  as  I  did,  it  may  seem 
strange  to  you  I  did  not  love  her  child  also; 
but  I  hated  him  for  his  father's  sake.  He  was 
once  imprisoned  by  De  Lisle,  and  liberated  by 
^iya,  who  little  dreamed  she  was  freeing  her 
own  brother. 


219 

trs. 
ried 

ng 

ir- 
«•- 

if 

r, 


I  ** 


210 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


''As  I  told  you  my  undying  remorse  gave  me 
no  rest,  and  I  resolved  at  last  to.  tell  Sir  William 
Stanley  what  I  had  done,  and  then,  if  possible, 
fly  the  country.  But  the  hand  of  Providence 
overtook  me,  and  my  tale  of  crime  has  been  re- 
served for  a  deathbed  confession. 

'The  dress  Elva  wore  the  day  I  stole  her  is  in 
yonder  chest,"  continued  the  dying  man,  point- 
ing faintly  in  the  direction;  "also  a  sms^ll  locket 
containing  her  mother's  portrait.  If  anything 
further  is  needed  to  establish  her  identity,  there 
is  a  peculiar  mark  on  her  arm  that  cannot  be 
mistaken,  and  will  set  at  rest  all  doubts.  And 
now,  thank  Heaven,  my  story  is  ended,  and  justice 
has  been  done  at  last.  It  is  said  that  you  have 
great  power  over  Sir  William  Stanley;  therefore, 
you  will  have  no  trouble  in  inducing  him  to  be- 
lieve my  dying  words." 

*Thus  it  is  that  Heaven  ever  confounds  the 
wicked,  and  brings  hidden  things  of  darkness  to 
light.  Thus  it  is  that  justice  shall  be  rendered 
unto  all  men  at  last,"  said  the  hermit,  clasping 
his  hands  solemnly. 

'That  voice,  that  voice !"  said  Paul  Snowe, 
raising  himself  wildly  on  his  pillow.  "Has  the 
g^ave  given  up  its  dead?  Are  you  a  man  or  a 
being  from  the  world  of  spirits?     Are  you " 

Ere  the  hermit  could  speak,  the  fearful  death- 


was 


1  V  L-H— I  -I.    .JBMJLl^B-- 


A  Startling  Discovery. 


211 


rattle  resounded  through  the  room.  He  clutched 
the  air  convulsively  with  his  hands,  his  features 
worked  convulsively,  his  eyes  grew  fixed  and 
glassy,  and  falling  heavily  back  on  his  pillow — all 
was  over! 


219 


Irs. 


)l! 


ied 


»ng 
ir- 

P- 

>f 

r. 


■'      Iw. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
all's  well  that  ends  well. 

Half  an  hour  passed  away  "in  the  chambet^of 
death  ere  the  hermit  moved.  He  sat  gazing,  still 
and  silent,  on  the  rigid  form  before  him,  wonder- 
ing, perhaps,  how  such  fierce  passions  could  have 
existed  innhat  clay-cold  form. 

Then  he  arose,  and  opening  the  door  beckoned 
Elva  to  enter.  Awed  by  the  expression  of  his 
face  she  stole  softly  into  the  room  and  ap- 
proached the  bed,  As  her  eyes  fell  on  the  rigid 
figure  stretched  upon  it  she  sprang  back  with  a 
wild  cry  of  grief. 

For  with  all  his  faults,  and  notwithstanding 
all  his  cruelty,  Elva  had  really  loved  Paul  Snowe. 
He  had  been  the  only  friend  and  protector  she 
had  ever  known,  and  with  a  passionate  exclama- 
tion, "Oh,  Tather — father!"  she  fell  on  her  knees 
by  the  bedside,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"My  child,  grieve  not,"  said  the  hermit,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  her  head.  *Taul  Snowe  was  no 
father  of  thine !" 

She  arose  and  stood  before  him,  with  parted 
lips  and  wonder-dilated  eyes. 

"Not  my  father?"  she  said.     "Who  then,  isj^ 

"Sir  Wilham  Stanley." 


hil 
it: 

tol 

Y 

le 


All's  Well  that  Ends  Well 


213 


She  did  not  speak,  but  still  stood  regarding 
him  with  such  a  wild,  startled  look  of  incredul- 
ity and  amazement,  that  he  hastened  to  explain. 

**Sir  William  Stanley  had  vvron^j^ed  him;  and 
to  revenge  himself  he  stole  his  only  daughter. 
Your  name  is  not  Elva  Snowe,  but  Leila  Stan- 
ley."     ..  . 

"And  this  was  why  he  implored  me  so  wildly 
to  bring  him  Sir  William  Stanley,"  said  Elva, 
in  a  low,  breathless  tone,  almost  bewildered  by 
this  sudden  announcement. 

"It  was ;  he  could  not  die  in  peace  until  he  had 
'  confessed  what  he  had  done.  And  now  that  you 
know  how  deeply  he  has  wronged  you,  can  you 
forgive  him?" 

Elva  was  gazing  sadly  and  intently  upon  the 
death-cold  form  before  her.  At  the  hermit's 
question  she  looked  up,  and  said  earnestly: 

"Forgive  him?  Oh,  yes,  as  I  hope  to  be  for- 
given. But  this  sems  so  strange — so  improbable 
— so  like  an  Eastern  romance.  Can  it  be  that 
I  really  have  a  father  living?" 

"And  a  brother  likewise.  You  have  seen  Fred 
Stanley?" 

"Yes — yes;  I  have  seen  him.  He  is  tall,  and 
dark,  and  handsome  as  a  prince.  And  he  is  my 
brother !  Something  drew  me  toward  him  from 
the  first;  but  I  never,  never  could  have  imagined 


219 

drs. 
lied 

)ng 

ttr- 

ir- 
P- 

r. 


214 


Airs  Well  thai  Ends  Well 


anything  so  wild  as  this !  He  is  somewhere  near 
here,  is  he  not?" 

"Yes,  at  Percival  Hall." 

"Shall  I  see  him  to-night  ?" 

"No;  it  were  better  not.  The  last  remains  of 
Paul  Snowe  must  be  consigned  to  the  grave  first. 
For  a  day  or  two  you  will  remain  with  me.  and 
then  all  sball  be  revealed." 


"What  God  has  joined  together,  let  no  m^n 
put  asunder." 

The  great  drawing-room  of  Percival  Hall  was 
ablaze  wtth  light.  From  basement  to  attic  the 
house  was  crowded  with  guests,  assembled  from 
far  and  near,  to  witness  the  nuptials  of  Major 
Percival's  daughters. 

Fred  and  Gus,  looking  excessively  happy,  and 
very  unnecessarily  handsome,  stood  before  the 
venerable  clergyman,  who,  in  full  canonicals  and 
imposing  dignity,  pronounced  the  words  that 
made  them  the  happiest  of  men.  Edith  and  Nell, 
radiant  with  smiles  and  white  satin,  blushes  and 
orange  flowers,  stood  by  their  side,  promising 
dutifully  to  "love,  honor,  and  obey;"  although,  if 
the  truth  must  be  told,  Nell  hesitated  a  little  be- 
fore she  could  promise  the  latter. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  in  a 
pompous  tone  the  aristocratic  butler  announc  ed : 

"Sir  William  Stanley." 


"I 


All's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 


215 


Had  a  bomb  exploded  in  their  midst  greater 
consternation  could  not  have  appeared  on  every 
and  agitated,  stood  before  them. 

'This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  Sir  William," 
said  Major  Percival,  advancing  with  extended 
hand.  / 

**My  daughter — my  daughter!  is  she  here?*' 
demanded  the  baronet  wildly. 

''Your   daughter?"    said   Major   Percival,   in  " 
surprise.     "If  you  mean  Edith " 

"No,  no,  no,  no!  I  mean  my  own  child — my 
long-lost  daughter  Leila." 

"Can  he  be  deranged?"  said  the  major,  turn- 
ing to  Fred  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"I  am  not  mad — read  that!"  said  Sir  William, 
handing  the  major  a  note. 

"Go  to  Percival  Hall,"  it  said.  "This  night 
you  shall  hear  of  your  lost  daughter  Leila." 

"It  is  from  the  mysterious  Hermit  of  the 
Cliffs,"  said  the  ma>or  in  astonishment.  "What 
can  he  mean  ?" 

"What  he  says,"  said  a  calm,  clear  voice  that 
made  them  all  start,  as  they  turned  and  beheld 
the  hermit. 

"My  daughter — ^my  Leila — what  of  her?"  ex- 
clairtied  Sir  William,  striding  forward. 

"Behold  her!"  said  the  hermit,  stepping  back, 
and  every  eye  turned  to  the  slight  girlish  figure 
fcehind  him.  - 


21^ 

.Vlrs. 
aied 

ong 

tir- 
or- 
ir- 

«>- 

i     of 


2l6 


Airs  Well  that  E>kIs  Well 


**Elva  Snowe!'*  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices 
simultaneously,  while  the  baronet  started  back 
suddenly  at  the  name. 

"Not  Elva  Snowe,  but  Leila  Stanley,"  said  the 
hermit,  drawing  her  forward.  "On  his  death- 
bed, Paul  Snowe  confessed  he  had  stolen  her  and 
resigned  her  to  me.  This  trinket  was  on  her 
person  when  stolen.  Probably  you  recollect  it,s 
Sir  William." 

**Yes — yes;  it  was  I  who  placed  it  on  her  neck; 
but  if  Leila,  she  bears  on  her  arm  a  singular) 
mark "  . 

"Look,"  said  the  hermit,  pushing  up  her 
sleeve  and  exposing  a  little  crimson  heart ;  "are 
you  convinced  now?" 

"My  child — my  child!"  exclaimed  Sir  William, 
clasping  in  his  arms  the  shrinking  Elva. 
"Thank  Heaven,  I  have  found  you  at  last !" 

Amazement  held  every  one  silent.  But  the 
hermit  advanced  and  said:  * 

"You  have  found  one  child  and  the  other " 

"Shall  be  mine  likewise,"  interrupted  the  bar- 
onet, approaching  Fred,  "if  he  can  forgive  the 
past." 

"Willingly,  joyfully,  my  dear  father !" .  said 
Fred,  grasping  his  hand  while  tears  sprang  to 
his  dark  eyes.  ''And  Elva — Leila  rather — ^may 
Lclaim  a  brother's  privilege?"  he  added,  pressing 
his  lips  to  her  blushing  brow. 


All's  U'ell  that  linds  Well. 


2^7 


id 


"And  now  for  a  still  more  surprising  dis- 
covery,'* said  Sir  William,  turning  with  much 
agitation  toward  the  hermit.  "On  this  joyful 
occasicHi  it  will  not  do  to  have  one  cloud  marrine 
our  festivity.  If  you  can  forgive  me  for  the 
great  wrong  I  have  done  you,  we  may  see  many 
happy  days  together  yet." 

For  a  moment  the  hermit  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands,  while  his  whole  frame  quivered  with 
powerful  emotion.  Then  raising  his  head,  to  the 
amazement  of  all  present,  he  removed  his  flowing 
white  hair  and  his  long  beard.  His  robe  fell 
from  his  shoulders,  and,  lo !  a  pale,  stately,  dark- 
haired  zvoman  stood  before  them. 

Wonder  chained  every  tongue.  Sir  William 
Stanley  sprang  forward  and  clasped  her  in  his 
arms,  exclaiming  passionately : 

"My  wife— my  wife — my  own  Elva !" 
*  "Good  Heaven !     Sir  William  Stanley,  what 
means  all  this?"  exclaimed  Major  Percival,  find- 
ing his  tongue  at  last.  ♦ 

"It  means,"  said  Sir  William,  raising  his  head 
proudly,  "that  this  lady  is  my  first,  my  only  wife, 
Elvena  Snowe.  Deeply  have  I  wronged  her,  but 
I  shall  strive  to  atone  for  it  by  a  public  confes- 
sion to-night.  When  I  forcibly  took  her  son 
from  her,  yonder  youth,  she  was  for  a  time  de- 
ranged, and  wandered  away  from  the  village  of 
her  birth.     After  a  time  a  report  went  forth  that 


ai9 

Mrs. 
nied 

long 


mai 


2l8 


AWs  Well  that  Ends  Well. 


she  was  dead.  She  heard  it  when  sanity  par- 
tially returned,  and  resolved  never  to  return  to 
the  spot  where  she  had  suffered  so  much.  She 
found  a  cottage  deserted  among  the  wild  cliffs, 
and  resolved  to  make  her  home  there.  Afraid 
that  some  one  would  recognize  and  bring  her 
back,  with  the  cunning  of,  partial  derangement, 
she  disguised  herself  ^s  you  have  seen,  and  for 
years  lived  on  alone,  until  she  learned  to  love  the 
dreary  spot.  When  the  war  commenced  I  came 
here,  and  was  followed  by  my  son.  She  heard 
of  it,  and,  unknown  herself,  she  determined  to 
watch  over  her  son.  I,  as  you  all  know,  had  ccij- 
demned  him  to  die.  At  the  eleventh  hour  she 
came,  and  by  disclosing  who  she  was,  saved  his 
life.  I  believed  her,  for  the  time,  to  be  a  being 
from  the  world  of  spirits,  and  the  shock  and  sur- 
prise was  so  great  that  I  spared  my  son.  After^^ 
ward  we  met  and  she  told  me  all ;  but  pride  would 
not  allow  me  to  confess  to  the  world  my  guilt. 
But  now  since  Leila  has  been  so  miraculously 
restored,  I  can  trample  pride  and  the  opinion  of 
^he  world  under  foot,  and  proclaim  the  once  Her- 
mit of  the  Cliffs  my  wife,  in  the  face  of  heaven 
arid^  earth !' 


i» 


A  month  later.  Sir  William  and  Lady  Stanley 
were  bounding  over  the  blue  waves  to  "Merrie 
England." 


* 


r 


\ 


All's  Well  thai  Ends  Well, 


219 


They  went  not  alone;  for  Leila,  now  Mrs. 
Nugent  Percival,  and  her  husband,  accompanied 
them. 

Fred  and  Edith,  and  Gus  and  Nell,  dwelt  long 
and  happily  in  the  land  they  loved  best. 

And  now,  reader,  farewell.  We  have  jour- 
neyed together  long;  but  nothing  can  last  for- 
ever. All  things  must  have  a  close,  and  the  char- 
acters who  have  passed  before  you  must  disap- 
pear from  your  view  at  last.  I,  too,  must  go 
from  your  sight,  for  the  daylight  is  dying  out  of 
the  sky,  and  my  task  is  ended.  I  trust,  however, 
we  may,  ere  long,  meet  again.. 

THE   END. 

No.  1037  of  the  New  Eagle  Series,  entitled 
"A  Love  Concealed,"  by  Mary  Garrison  Jones, 
is  a  charming  love  story  fuH  of  romance  and  mys- 
tery, and  keeps  the  reader  absorbed  with  the 
many  interesting  incidents  that  fill  its  pages, 
from  the  first  to  the  last 


* 


^ii*" 


the 


h. 


i 


who  keeps  a  good  line  of  the  STREET  & 
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A  few  of  the  authors  whose  copjrrighted 
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Cliarles  Garvice 

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